


Na Binne an Leann

by lokilickedme



Series: The McClary Chronicles [3]
Category: Loki - Fandom, Scottish Mythology, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Breastfeeding Kink, Complete, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gentle Sex, Hot Springs Sex, Kissing, Mutual Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Panty Kink, Parenthood, Part 3 of The McClary Chronicles, Phone Sex, Post-Pregnancy Sex, Reunion Sex, Scotland, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex, Smut, Star-crossed, Surly King, Texting, Touching, Vaginal Sex, accent kink, city to country, daddy!King, dinner with the relatives, first time after childbirth, longsuffering Molly, neurodivergent and neurotypical relationship, rubbing against each other, tactile kink, text sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-12-02 00:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 77,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11498058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilickedme/pseuds/lokilickedme
Summary: Part 3 of The McClary Chronicles - picks up three months after the end of Samhach Mhiannan, with Molly making a life changing decision for herself and newborn Pod...and by extension, King McClary, the cranky Scotsman who has returned to his home in the Highlands without her.  Nobody ever said true love was an easy path to walk, but Molly's got a good sturdy pair of hiking boots this time around.  Which one will beg for mercy first:  the determined mother of the next King of Claighe, or the current king himself?The title, Na Binne an Leann, means "The Sweeter the Ale" - which is the second part of an old Scottish saying that I just totally made up for this story.  The whole quote goes "An teotha na grùdaireachd na binne an leann", which translates to "The hotter the brewing, the sweeter the ale"....meaning basically "the more you go through to be together, the stronger your love will be."





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

**_Cha robh mi a phutadh, cha robh mi thu stobadh, tha mi dìreach a choinnich thu agus thuit i ann an gaol._ **

**_I wisnae pushed, I didnae shove, I just met you and fell in love._ **

 

 

 

I stepped off the plane with Pod bundled up in my arms - it was getting close to winter again and Scotland was, of course, the coldest, wettest, least hospitable place on the planet, at least the spot where I was standing.  It always seemed to be that way.  But this time I wasn't scrabbling around in the mud gathering soil samples and being haunted by wraiths in the woods and dodging stampeding sheep and rude pissing cavemen.

This time I was here of my own accord, and I was staying.

Pod squealed when the icy air hit his face and I hurriedly covered his head with the quilt.  "Get used to it, little man - this is your life now."  He gurgled something back at me that sounded suspiciously like the early stages of sass;  he was nearly three months old now and trying so hard to talk already, always kicking his feet to get attention and putting in his opinion everywhere he could.  Too much like me that way...noisy, always trying to say something.  Not at all like his father.

His father, so quiet and seldom-spoken and spare with his words.

Hi father, who was happier when nobody was looking at him.

His father, _who didn't seem to be here._

Not a good start.

But someone else was there, waving at me from the other side of the barricade as I dropped my bag and resituated Pod's fat little bottom in his sling.  It was a face I recognized and I didn't know if I should laugh or groan - it was also a face I'd never forget, mainly because the last time I'd seen it it was being slammed into the bar for making lewd comments about my backside. 

"Hey Dave."  I waved back, possibly muttering something like _Oh dear god why_ under my breath as I hauled my bag up again and headed his way.

"King couldn't make it, there was an emergency with some ewes up at the Browley farm.  Glenda would've come but she's swamped with bloody tourists."  He looked at me apologetically while I tried to figure out what he was saying, the hangdog expression on his face making it clear that he completely understood why I didn't seem overly happy to see him.  But he was apparently the one person who could be counted on as the backup guy, and for that I was grateful to him because despite my mad navigation skills back home, I had no idea how to get myself from Glasgow to Claighe.  I offered him a tired smile and held my bag out to him once I'd figured out the _King couldn't make it_ part.  He took it without hesitating, nodding toward Pod, curled up against my chest in his sling.  He didn't seem the least bit surprised that there was a baby in the equation.  "I'll take you to where King's at, it's about an hour south."

_Uhboot un hoor sooth_ took a minute to register, and once it did I didn't really know what to say other than okay.  Following Dave MacDale through an airport terminal playing What's The Scotsman Saying wasn't something I'd ever really envisioned myself doing, especially while carrying my infant son and a few meager belongings - mostly essential baby gear - in an overstuffed carry on bag.  But nothing about me being in Scotland had ever been something I'd envisioned, and I trailed along behind him in silence for one reason only.  He knew where King was, and getting to him was the only purpose I could possibly have for setting foot back in this murderous place.  I hadn't forgotten that Scotland hated me...but it was going to have to learn to accept me, because this was where I planned to stay.

Maybe we could learn to like each other later.

Right now I just needed to get to King and hand him his son and wait with my breath held to see if the universe was going to help us out this time.  The sky outside the terminal was clouding over, but I refused to take it as a bad omen.  I had sold everything I could, put the rest into storage, and walked away from my entire life to come back to this rough and ragged place to be with a man who was even more rough and ragged than the land he lived on.  And if I recalled correctly, it was during the rain that I'd first clapped eyes on him.

No, this little storm wasn't a bad omen.  It was a greeting, it had to be.  Maybe a bit of a warning, but nothing overly malicious.  I could accept that, and turned my face up to the grey sky as we walked out into the chilly mist.

_I'm ready for you this time._

 

It was pouring by the time we got to Dave's muddy old beaten up truck and I stared at the very dead deer splayed legs-up in the open bed as he tossed my bag in on top of it.  I was about to say something but was interrupted by his heavy cursing as he climbed through the cab to kick open the passenger door for me, stretching out across both seats and drawing his legs up to give it three hard kicks to knock it open, forcing me to jump out of the way when it finally swung wide with a creaking squeal of rust and ice-laden protest.  I stared at him for a minute, wondering what the hell the people of Claighe had against vehicles that didn't require brute force to operate.

"Really, Dave?"

He gave me a shrug and started the truck while I struggled to climb in, wondering how I was going to safely secure Pod for the trip and giving up on the jammed seatbelt that for some reason was tied around the headrest.  I had a very unsettled feeling that it was all that was holding my seat inside the vehicle and shot Dave another scathing look, noticing that there didn't seem to be a belt on his side at all.

And as he hiked one leg up and kicked the windshield to knock the frozen wipers loose, all I could think was how glad I was that MacDale didn't do the kilt thing, because there was only one scrotum in this insane country that I wanted to see - and it definitely wasn't his.

 

 

The ride felt like a lot longer than an hour and I fell asleep twice, making Dave pull over after I woke up the second time so I could feed Pod;  I wasn't sure how I felt about letting him watch me drag my boob out so I asked him to get out of the truck until we were finished.  It was raining hard now and bitter cold, but he did as I requested even though I could hear him cursing and whining through the window the whole time.  I considered it personal payback for the things he'd said to me in his drunken stupor that night in the pub so long ago, the night King had sat on the hood of his jeep in the parking lot drinking himself into a surly funk that had ended with us coming to a begrudging understanding that there were mutual feelings between us in the room above the tavern.

I couldn't really be mad at Dave for that...but I could very well be holding a grudge for the nasty declarations he'd made about my butt, and listening to him bitch like an old woman about being locked out of his own truck was supremely satisfying.  So I took my time feeding Pod, only allowing him to get back in once I'd burped him and rocked him back to sleep.

And maybe a half hour later when we finally made it to the top of what had to be one of the bumpiest roads in the whole of Europe, I squinted off into the distance toward where Dave was pointing at a stone walled barn and saw a tall man whistling at a madly charging dog.  A bunch of fat sheep were running around and when the man looked up toward us, my heart skipped just a little.

He was ragged looking, shaggy haired and heavily bearded again, but there was no mistaking the King of Claighe, even from that distance.

I'd have known that man anywhere.

He was in my heart, and the way my heart felt right that moment, I could have been blind and still known it was him.

 

 

Pod had been fussing after a particularly bumpy stretch of road woke him up, but he instantly went quiet, peering past the quilt I had wrapped around him and tugged up to cover most of his head against the cold of the truck's cab.  "You know who's out there, don't you little man?"  He gave me a wide eyed stare and I took a deep breath, waiting for Dave to come around and open my door for me.  It only took one kick and a couple of hard yanks to get it open this time, and as I climbed out I could see King coming toward us across the field like some ancient, half angry god waking from a very long sleep, confused and annoyed and just a little bit pissed off to find his unwanted worshipers kneeling at his altar.

Which was very nearly what my shaky knees made me do when I heard one single word carried on the howling wind between us in the deep, growly voice that had been haunting my nights for so long.

_"Bhanrigh."_

 

 

Both of us stopped before we reached each other;  I was barely to the front of the truck, all wobbly legged and almost hyperventilating in the cold, and his long strides had carried him quickly across the big open space between the barn and the driveway so that he was within reach of us in seconds.  But now that we were in touching distance of each other, neither of us seemed able to do that final thing, to stretch an arm out and establish contact.  His eyes were locked to the bundle in my arms, my squirming little son that was trying to wriggle around so he could see who this person was whose presence he was sensing.

King raised one hand slowly, his mouth open like he was trying to say something that refused to come out.

"It's okay," I said quietly, bouncing Pod gently to calm him.  But my words were meant to comfort King as much as they were for the baby.  "Dylan, your daddy's here."

The look that broke across King's face was something I'd never seen before - caught somewhere between surprise at hearing himself referred to by that word and a misty-eyed nervousness at finally seeing his son in person.  We'd Skyped countless times, he'd sang Pod to sleep many nights with Scottish lullabies and introduced him to Mol the pup and told him all about the sheep...but three thousand miles had separated him from us during those conversations, miles that seemed to just keep growing as time passed.

But those miles were gone now, replaced with less than three feet of muddy, frostbitten ground and a hesitant fear that maybe it was all just a dream.

I turned a little so that he could see the baby's face, and when Pod craned his little head around and met eyes with King, I think even Dave MacDale choked up a bit.

 

The hesitation that had kept him from coming any closer was gone now and King stepped toward us, closing that final bit of space as he laid his hand on Pod's head.  He was filthy and his fingers were caked with dirt, but nothing in me cared.  He was touching our son for the first time, and his hand was shaking.

And then he was pulling us to him, his long arms going around us both as he pressed his scratchy bearded face against mine.

"Hello Mol."

 

 

Without another word he took my bag from Dave's truck and tossed it into the back of his Jeep, settling us into the passenger seat and strapping us in with what could only roughly be called a seatbelt before whistling for the dog to get in the back;  she gave me a baleful look before finally jumping in, making it clear that I was in her spot and she wasn't happy about it.  But she seemed to remember me and laid her head on my shoulder from the back seat, giving the side of my face a lick before King got in and made her lay down.

It was a cold and damp ride back to the sliabh and I scooched down as far as I could in my seat, hugging Pod tight against me and keeping my mouth shut.  King's Jeep was far from ideal transportation for a newborn and absolutely nothing about it could be considered even remotely safe, but now wasn't the time to complain or insist that he do something about it.  I figured I was lucky to even be in the front seat, to be honest - it was obvious he valued his dog more than he valued most people, and watching him order her into the back had actually made me feel stupidly honored.  He put his arm across us protectively every time the rocky hills bounced us around, slowing down when we crossed creeks and particularly rough patches of road, but in all honesty it was so cold I would have conceded that speed and the pothole riddled terrain were the lesser of the two evils.  The belt across my lap had two knots tied in it and they were digging into my hipbones so hard it made my eyes water every time we hit a bump.  It seemed painfully obvious these people had a very lax mindset concerning proper vehicular restraints, but it was better than the mostly nonexistent belts in Dave MacDale's truck, so I held onto the baby with one hand and the dashboard with the other and hoped for the best.

When King got out to shut a gate behind us he took his coat off and laid it over us, tucking the sleeves around behind my back.  It was warm from his body and smelled like a nostril-flaring combination of mud, sheep, and him.

_Him_...

A distinctive smell I remembered well, that I'd used to soothe myself to sleep so many times, burying my face in the pillow he'd slept on while he was at my house.  I thought in that moment that it was the best smell I'd ever inhaled, and when the back of his hand brushed across my face I tilted my head to catch his fingers between my cheek and shoulder.  He left it there for a moment, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

_I'm home,_ I thought with a clarity that I hadn't felt in months, not since the night I'd sent Ian packing out of my bedroom and out of my life. _I'm in a rattly Jeep on a backwoods road somewhere in the Highlands, freezing to death and absolutely certain that I'm going to be spending the night in a narrow cot in front of a spark-spewing fireplace with a baby, a huge man, and a half grown sheep dog all fighting for one scratchy wool blanket..._

_...but I'm home._

As ludicrous and uncomfortable as the reality of it was, I knew when I looked over at King, all dirty and shaggy and looking like he hadn't had a bath in a month, that it was the right word.

Home.

But it wasn't Scotland that I associated the word with, and it wasn't the sliabh - and it definitely wasn't that run down little cabin at the top of it.  No, it was the man sitting next to me with his big dirt-stained hand stretched out protectively across the space between us, rubbing Pod's back and stealing little glances over at him in between shifting gears and dodging rocks.

_He_ was home.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *manip of Molly and King by the great @vivianstark and edited by myself for this chapter - please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

**_A madainn ceòthach a dh'fhaodadh a bhith latha soilleir._**  
  
**_A misty morning may become a clear day._**

 

 

Home didn't end up being quite where I'd thought it would be, on top of that muddy mountain in a primitive cabin with wide cracks between the floorboards and pipes that clanged and rattled and maybe,  _maybe_  might give you ice cold water if they felt like it and you stood on one foot in just the right position for long enough.  No, we lurched to a stop at the bottom of the hill, in the long curving driveway of a house I didn't remember seeing when I was here before.  I looked at King as he got out of the car, thinking he was going to go talk to someone at the house and come right back, but he came around to my side and opened the door instead.

I wasn't sure what else to do other than get out and follow him once he'd untied the knot holding my seatbelt together, so I did, without questioning.  I was even more confused when he got my bag from the back and slung it over his shoulder, turning to head to the house without waiting for us as I hurried along behind him, trying to protect Pod's head from the icy wind as Mol the pup trotted along behind us.  He pushed the door open and went in, motioning for us to follow.

"Go on in Mol," he said, pointing toward a wide open living area.  "I'll get the fire started."

I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or the dog, but I went into the living room anyway and looked around, tired and a bit addled and a little more than half frozen from the trip.  But mostly I was confused and annoyed that he wasn't speaking to me as much as I wanted him to...he'd barely said a dozen words so far, and though I was used to his tendency toward silence, I had dared to hope for something a little more on level with our mutual familiarity.  He hadn't spoken for the entire trip, though there was nothing in his demeanor to make me think we weren't welcome.   _Give him time, he's readjusting_  I reminded myself.   _He's gone full caveman again._   Glenda had told me he'd been keeping to himself for the last three months - conversation and contact were things he'd obviously reset to zero on, which was a damn shame considering how far we had come in the time we were together.  But I was prepared to start over with him again if I had to.

He was difficult and occasionally tiresome, but he was worth the extra work.

And eventually he would have to tell me where we were and why we weren't going on up the hill, because I wanted to know whose couch I was about to change my baby's diaper on.  Maybe he'd gotten permission from the absent owner to bed us down here for the night?  Too cold at the cabin for the baby?  I knew how bone chilling it could get in that little house when the fire died down or the door flew open, and Pod's little McClary quilt was thick and warm but not  _that_  warm.  Not a good option.

As I stood there shivering while he stomped out the back, five words slammed around in my head with a noisy, painful bit of self accusation.

_What had I been thinking??_

I wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it must have come from my vagina instead of my brain.  I hated King's cabin with the passion of a thousand burning suns and was now likely to be spending a lot of time in it - I had my own money and would be making my own accommodations at some point, but right this moment I was totally at the mercy of a man who thought electricity was an unwarranted luxury.  But he lived there, in that creepy murder shack, and this little fact had painted my memory of it in a pleasingly rosy glow that effectively erased how miserable I'd been while I was there.

A misery that all came rushing back now, in technicolor.  The only time I'd actually enjoyed being there was while we were wrapped up in each other, when the heat of his skin warmed me and the softness of his lips distracted me from the hardness of the bed and his big strong hands reminded me that there were other things to worry about.  Things like rolling into the fire during the heat of passion and falling off the tiny, squeaky, impossibly uncomfortable mattress with a very huge, very heavy man on top.

Ah yes.  So many better things to worry about.

There would be none of that tonight though, I knew.  This place would do for now, and in the morning I would take Pod into the village and get a room above Glenda's tavern until I figured out what was next.  But my curiosity got the better of me as I put him down on the big comfy sofa and started looking around for a bathroom.  Everything seemed brightly, fresh out of the package _new,_ unused and unlived in.  The inside of the fireplace was even clean, like there had never been a fire in it.

"Whose house is this, King?"

He didn't answer me and I wasn't sure where he'd gone, so I pulled the coffee table over against the sofa to keep Pod from rolling off and started opening doors until I found what I needed.  A quick look in the mirror over the bathroom sink showed me what I already knew and couldn't bring myself to feel bad about - I looked tired, haggard and worn out from the long flight and lack of sleep.  But it was a deserved tired.  A good long rest in a soft bed was what I needed, after a hot bath and definitely some food.  But if I was going to take advantage of someone's hospitality in allowing me free reign of their house, I really wanted to know who to thank.  "Who lives here, King?  Are they coming back tonight?"

A thud in the livingroom told me he was back in the house again and I stuck my head out to see him stacking firewood next to the hearth.

"King?"

He looked over at me like he hadn't heard a word I'd said.  That little half smile was on his lips again, an enigmatic expression that told me so little.  Was he happy to see me?  Was he just being polite?  No, I knew King couldn't fake emotions with any degree of accuracy and polite wasn't in his limited range.  What I was seeing was more uncertainty than anything.  He wasn't sure what he was feeling, but he knew he needed to give me something to react to...and so he was offering me a nondescript little smile, because it was the best that he could do with sincerity.  He kicked a stray log back into the pile and put the grating up in front of it.  "You got everything you need?"

"Um...yeah, I think so."  I was lying - there was nothing in my bag except Pod's diapers and necessities and a change of clothes for myself, but I didn't want him being concerned with details.  "Whose house is this?"

There was a crackling  _whoosh_  as the fire caught and flared up, sending sparks out all over him as he stood and turned to me. 

"It's yours Mol."

"What?"

"It's yours."

I knew I'd heard him right, but I also knew I couldn't possibly be understanding his meaning correctly.  It was probably some overly generous Scottish hospitality thing, like it was mine to make use of until I got settled somewhere else.  But as I looked around the room again, I noticed once more that nothing looked like it had ever been used.  "What do you mean mine?  Like,  _mine?"_

"Aye, I built it for you."

I stared at him, not really comprehending what I thought I'd just heard.

King built me a house?

"For...me...?"

He nodded, reaching into the fireplace to resettle a log that had shifted.

"Aye.  For when you and Pod come, you'll have a place to stay where you'll be comfortable.  Or live in, if you ever choose to."

I knew my mouth was open, I could feel it but I couldn't seem to close it.  He had moved to the sofa and was leaning over Pod, looking down at him but not touching him.

"You...you built me a  _house?"_

"Aye."  A questioning look furrowed his brow, like he was confused that I didn't understand the everyday commonality of having a house built for you in a foreign country by a man you'd only met three times.  "Does it suit ya, Mol?"

"This - "  I motioned around the room, my brain trying desperately to grasp what he was saying to me but doubt and disbelief refusing to let it sink in.   _"You_  built  _this_  - when?"

"Few months back.  Finished weathering the roof about a week ago.  Cellar still needs some work but I'll get to it."

"You built it all by yourself."

"Aye, I had some help."  He pointed toward a hallway that led to a closed door.  "The bedroom's back there, you'll have everything you need for tonight and I'll take you to town tomorrow.  There's a safe place for Pod to sleep so you can rest.  I've a bed in the barn, I'll bunk down there tonight and go up the hill in the morn."

My head was spinning, trying to sort all this new information - he'd gone from not saying enough to suddenly saying too much and my brain was still too cold to make sense of any of it.  So far all I was understanding with any degree of certainty was that he'd built me a house and there was a bed in the barn.  Of all the incomprehensible facts spinning around in it, that was the one my head latched onto.  "What's the bed in the barn for?"

"For me."

"You?  Why?"

"The house is yours Mol.  I'm a guest here.  I wouldn't presume to invite myself to sleep in your bedroom when I come down to see you and Pod."

This man.  Dear god.  I didn't know what to think, but one thing I did know with absolute certainty was that I didn't want him sleeping in the barn while Pod and I were snuggled up here in the house, all warm and comfortable...and alone.

_When I come down to see you._

He wasn't planning on staying with us.

"What if I want you to?  To sleep in here, I mean."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged.  "Then I will."

 _Now,_  I thought.   _Tell him now._ I'd told him I was coming but not that I wasn't going back - a decision I'd second guessed all the way from Philadelphia to Glasgow, but by then of course it was too late and all I could do was hope he took surprises well.  I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then blurted out, "I'm staying, King."

"There should be enough food in the pantry for a few days, I'll bring in some beef tomorrow for the ice box and get you some more firewood - "

"Did you hear me?  I said I'm staying."

He nodded, taking a step back when I moved toward him.  "Aye, I heard ye."

"I'm staying, as in not going back.  Me and Pod, we're here.  We're staying."

The confusion on his face was palpable and I felt the conflicting need to gently explain while simultaneously slapping him to make him pay attention, because he was looking everywhere except at me and shaking his head as if telling me I was wrong.  And then I realized - he wasn't being dense.  He was purposefully ignoring my words because they were something he was afraid to hear.  It was obvious by the way he was treating me, as if I was someone he sort of knew but had no history with, barely speaking to me and looking at me even less, that he was simply protecting himself.

He was keeping me from hurting him, because if there was one thing he'd learned from our last time together, it was that I was very capable of doing just that.  Telling me that he was going to sleep in the barn was his way of keeping a safe enough distance between us that he'd be able to let me go painlessly when the time came.

But it was a time that wasn't coming, and I watched him struggling with the formidable task of accepting it, standing there in the middle of this beautiful room in this beautiful house he'd built for me.  He'd built it so I would be comfortable, not having to suffer from the cold and inconvenience of his cabin for however long I planned to stay.  But he'd never once genuinely entertained the notion that I would live in it for more than a few days at a time, a couple of weeks at most.  That I would bring Pod to visit and then we would be gone again till next time.

He was okay with that because he thought he had to be.

But I wasn't, and even though making him understand that he didn't have to be either seemed like a very important thing right that moment, I knew it might be best to just let him see it happen.  He would eventually notice that I never went home.  And then he would accept it, because he saw it with his own eyes.

For now I would just take it a step at a time, because that was how he functioned.

"Thank you, King.  I love the house."

He nodded, a curt little tip of his head that very nearly broke my heart.  He considered himself a guest in this house that he'd built with his own hands, like he had no valid excuse to be here now that the owner had arrived.  And the furtive little glances he kept casting toward Pod were every bit as heartbreaking.

"Why don't you pick him up and hold him?"

"Naw, I'm all dirty."

"It won't hurt him.  He needs a bath anyway, we were on that plane for nearly two days and he got sick twice.  One thing I know now, you can't bathe a baby in an airplane bathroom sink."

He smiled a little, but it was humorless and seemed more nervous and distracted than anything;  he wiped his palms on his kilt and I watched as he bent over and very gently picked Pod up, resting him in the crook of his arm so they could see each other.  And bless my rowdy little half Scottish son, he quieted instantly and peered up at his father, little arms waving, grabbing at King's beard.  "He knows you."

King nodded, his smile suddenly turning genuine when Pod grabbed his chin.  "Aye, he seems to."

I left them alone there in the livingroom to get acquainted without me watching over them like a protective hawk;  I knew King could be gentle, I'd seen him handle his lambs like they were made of eggshells and he'd handled me in much the same way more than once.  Letting him have some quiet father-son time with Pod didn't make me nervous at all and I quietly left the room, heading to the bedroom he'd said was at the end of the hallway.

The first thing I saw when I pushed the door open was a big bed with a thick white down quilt laid across it.  It looked just like my bed back home.

 _Oh King._   He knew I loved my big comfy bed, he'd shaken his head and rolled his eyes at the ridiculous fluffy luxury of it many times during his visits, but here it was, in Scotland, an almost exact duplicate right down to the frilly pillows.  There was even a dark wood bedside table with a drawer, just like the one I'd had back home, the one he'd been absently snooping through when he found my big-girl toys.

_I wonder if he's supplied duplicates of those too._

But before I had the chance to go look, my eyes fell on something on the other side of the bed that made my breath catch in my throat.  Pulled up close to it was the most beautiful little crib I'd ever seen.  I had looked at countless cribs in catalogs and in the baby boutiques around Philadelphia, but none of them, not even the fanciest, most expensive ones, came anywhere near to the simple beauty of this.

I sat down on the end of the bed, overwhelmed, exhausted and ready to just flop back on the cushy mattress and let sleep take me for a while when I heard King's voice through the open door.  He was speaking to Pod, and Pod was gurgling his little baby words in response.

_They were talking to each other._

It was the most perfect thing I'd ever heard.  King speaking Gaelic, Pod speaking baby, and the two of them seeming to understand each other perfectly - no repeating themselves for clarity, no raising voices to be understood.  Just the last two McClary males in existence, getting to know each other.

I lay back and closed my eyes, content that my son was safe in the hands of the one person who loved him as much as I did, and took a much needed nap on my new bed, in my new home, nestled warmly, finally, in King's world.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

__

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork by VivianStark exclusively for this series - please don't use anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

_**Nas fheàrr an diabhal a chumail aig an doras na dh'fheumadh e a thoirt a-mach às an taigh.** _

_**Better to keep the devil at the door than have to turn him out of the house.** _

  

 

The room was dark when I woke up, a small fire in the little bedroom fireplace casting a soft dim glow across the crib just bright enough for me to see that Pod was in it, asleep but fidgeting in his _I'm about to wake up very hungry_ way.  The brief little moment of panic and disorientation vanished as soon as I saw him and realized where I was.

Scotland.

The house.

 _My_  house.

I'd slept hard, but there was no clock to tell me for how long so I picked up my phone and checked the time.  Nine p.m.  What time had it been when I laid down for my nap?  I couldn't remember...all I knew was that King had been playing with Pod in the livingroom and I had passed out pretty much the second my head hit the mattress.  He must have put him in the crib after he fell asleep and pulled my boots off, covering me with the heavy knitted blanket that had been folded neatly over the arm of the rocking chair.

Huh...there was a rocking chair.  I'd been too tired to really notice it other than my brain just acknowledging its presence, over by the window.  King seemed to have thought of everything.  But the lights in the rest of the house appeared to all be off, and he wasn't asleep on the bed next to me.

I'd known he wouldn't be, but it didn't stop me from taking a second look to make sure.

_I'll bunk down in the barn tonight and head back up the hill in the morn._

I wasn't going out to that barn for anything.  I thought I'd made it clear that I wanted him to sleep in the house with us...but this was King McClary we were dealing with, how he'd interpreted my hypothetical _What if I want you to?_ was anybody's guess.

But no matter how badly I wanted to have him sleeping beside me, to feel his warm skin and hear his loud snoring, I knew him being in the barn was probably the best option for now.  Not because of our uncertain relationship status, but for the simple fact that I honestly didn't think I could handle sex with him.  Pod had just about ripped me a second vagina, and now, eleven weeks later, it still hurt to sit down sometimes.  My stitches had torn - and then gotten infected - a few days into recovery and after that nothing felt okay, from peeing to walking to the simple act of crossing my legs.  I hadn't even been able to stomach the idea of touching myself, much less entertain the notion of actual intercourse.

I wasn't sure how King would take that.  I also wasn't sure if I could deal with laying next to him and not having him inside me.  But the mere thought of it made me shudder, and the prospect of his huge cock plowing into that still-tender part of me sent shivers of anticipatory pain all through my body.

No, the barn was definitely the best place for King to be right now.

But I wanted to see him, so I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and held my breath for a second before I hit his number.  On the third ring he finally answered, his voice groggy with the slightest edge of annoyance at having been woken.

"Aye?"

"What are you doing out there?"

A groan, then something that sounded like a yawn and the rustling of blankets, like he was turning over and hitting his pillow to fluff it back up.  "Sleeping."

"You're awake now."

"Aye, thank you."  He sighed loudly and I knew he was rubbing his eyes, wanting to go back to sleep...but I couldn't let him.

"I want to see you."

"Come peek in the damn window then, you know how."

Great.  He was in asshole mode, that cranky  _bugger off_ attitude that he always defaulted to when woken.  I considered getting indignant with him for one brief moment - the window incident he was referring to had been all his doing, I'd only gone back to the cabin that day to get my underwear back.  I'd had no reason to suspect I would find him using them that way, and I certainly hadn't climbed up on that rickety crate under his window with the intention of watching him masturbate with my frilly unmentionables.  It just sort of...happened.  But the memory of what I'd seen still gave me warm shivers every time I thought of it, and if I knew he would be doing it when I got there, I would have pulled on my coat and hotfooted it to the barn right then.

A twinge in my nethers reminded me that it wasn't a good idea.

_No sex, think of the stitches.  Remember the tear.  Pod's enormous head plowing up the playground like a damn marauding visigoth rampaging through central Europe leaving fire and destruction in its wake. The kid's foot was over his own shoulder, remember?_

_Remember??_

Not even King's cock was magical enough to make me forget about that.

The mental image of him stretched out on a bed in the barn was just too powerful though, despite the shudders of revulsion that sent sharp phantom pains straight to my crotch.  There were other things we could do, things that didn't involve penetration...we'd already done most - if not all - of them, so I knew we had less horrifying options that we were already quite adept at.

But he was obviously tired and more than a little bit cranky, judging by the tone of his voice.

Not that that had ever stopped me from pestering him before.

"Come on, show me.  Please?"

There was a long pause, and then a moment later my screen was filled with King's beautiful face.

 

__

 

I think I must have stared at it for several minutes before I heard myself typing - in that moment of _ohh my god look at him_ I had hung up on the call, too flabbergasted to even realize what buttons I was hitting.  So I texted out a shaky message, took a deep breath, and hit send.

_I'm coming out there._

It took a long time for him to reply, but his answer finally popped up.

_Door's open._

 

 

"Hey."

He looked up from the bed, sitting there with one knee up, a book held against his thigh that he'd apparently just opened.  I had a pretty good suspicion that he was naked from the waist down under that blanket.  "This isn't a no-girls-allowed man cave, is it?  I can leave if it is - "

I was graced with a squint and couldn't be sure if my voice was hurting his head or if he was just hoping I wouldn't start talking uncontrollably.

"It's your barn."

"Yeah..."  I looked around, at the shelves of books and the oil lamp hanging over the bed - despite the light switch on the wall - and his muddy boots tossed halfway under it.  My barn.  I didn't even have a clean pair of underwear with me, but I had a barn.  "Listen, what you said about being a guest in the house?  I don't want you to feel that way.  I mean - you built it.  You don't have to sleep out here like a hired farmhand."

He shook his head, finally lowering the book.  "I like it out here."

It was cozy, I had to give him that much.  There was a little fireplace across the room, separated from the main barn by a half wall where his brown leather kilt was tossed over the top rail.  "It's not bad.  Warmer than your cabin, anyway."  I made an awkward flapping gesture with both hands to indicate the size of the place and turned away hurriedly as he sat up, the blanket tugging down to his lap.  "Bigger, too."

Ah shit - he'd seen my eyes fall to his belly, to the bulge beneath it that was just barely covered by the sheets.  I knew he probably wasn't even hard, but that bulge was still huge regardless and there was suddenly a little battle going on in my own lower regions.  It was like an angel/devil cartoon, with my sore perineum arguing with my dampening vagina over whether or not to mount the big man on the bed.  "The room," I clarified quickly, feeling stupid and knowing he was probably grinning, though I wasn't about to look to confirm it.  "Bigger than your cabin, I meant."

 _Well this is just getting embarrassing._ I was about to go on a word spree, I could feel it coming and so could he.  Thankfully he stopped me before I got going.

"Mol."

"Hmm?"

"Stop talking."

"Yeah, okay."

I didn't know why I felt so uncomfortable, standing there by the door while he sat on the edge of the bed with just a corner of the blanket draped across his lap...but I did, and it was suddenly like we hadn't slept together, showered together, fucked together, made a baby together.  Three short months apart and one unfortunate fuckup on my part and we were like strangers again.  It felt so unfair.

I started to take a step toward him, but before I could move he was speaking again.

"Thank you for coming, Mol.  For bringing Pod."  He absently scratched at the neck of his tee shirt and yawned.  "He's a fine boy."

"He's a very good boy," I nodded in agreement, still wanting to go to him but frozen in place with something unsettlingly like fear.  "But rowdy like his daddy."

He laughed a little, quietly.  "Is that a bad thing?"

"Not really, no.  Just tiring sometimes."

We fell silent for a long awkward moment while I stood there tapping the toes of my boots against each other.  He was staring at my feet while I did it, but when he spoke again it wasn't to tell me to stop.

"Is he like me - in other ways?"

I knew what he was asking.  He wanted to know if Pod had his sensory issues.  I hadn't really seen any evidence to make me say yes, though he was still way too young to tell for sure.

But I could put King's mind at ease about it with just one word, and that was what I chose to do.

"No, I don't think so."

His eyes closed and he nodded slowly, and I knew he was convincing himself that everything was okay. 

"I'm sorry the delivery was so rough, Mol.  And that I wasn't there."

"That was my decision, you don't need to apologize for it."

"I should have been there."

"No, you shouldn't have.  Trust me, King.  You'd never be able to look me in the hoo-haw again."

"You underestimate the value I put on your hoo-haw."

I don't think there was a single coherent thought in either of our heads for the next several seconds;  he stared me straight in the eyes and in one fluid movement took the blanket off his lap as I crossed the space between us and straddled him, sliding up his thighs to push against his stomach.  There were a few blinding moments of lips and hands and heavy breathing arguing with breathless moans, then I pulled my face away from his and tried to gather what was left of my brain.

"We need to go in the house."

"Okay."

"Pod is alone, I need to get back in there with him - "

"I know, Mol."

But I couldn't stop kissing him, rubbing my face all over that softly scratchy beard, letting all the sensory memories wash over me and erase the fear of the pain I knew would be coming if we didn't stop.  It only took a few seconds for me to decide I didn't even care.  But the strong grip of his hands on my upper arms yanked me back to the moment and I yelped a little when his fingers dug into me.

"Get up, Mol - get in the house."

"Right."

Our lips met again and another mind-numbing flash of desire pushed the reset button, erasing my concern for my newborn just long enough to make me feel like the worst mother in the world when King grabbed my arms again, forcefully sitting me back on his knees away from his body.  A hard slap to the side of my thigh brought my priorities back and I cleared my throat, though it didn't do much to clear my head.  "Right, right - are you coming with me?"

He stared me in the eyes, a sort of predatory heat burning in his own before he finally nodded.

"Try to stop me."

 

Pod was still asleep, snuggled sweetly inside his sleep sack in the little crib beside the bed;  King stood staring at him while I took a quick shower, suddenly remembering that I hadn't done anything but sleep since we'd arrived.  But the hot water made me feel so much better, and I stood in the bathroom door for a long time toweling my hair and watching King, watching our son.

When he finally turned and looked at me, there was a brief second where I wasn't sure what was going to happen next.  He had come back to the house with me - unexpected, but not wholly surprising considering the feverish urgency I'd sensed in his kisses, in the way his hands had slid up my rib cage and stopped just below my breasts.  I knew from the hungry way he'd been staring at my chest that he'd wanted to let them roam further, but was holding himself back, betrayed by his trembling fingers.  Why?  Did he sense the hesitancy I'd felt when I first went into the barn?  Or was he afraid of resuming the intimate side of our relationship because it basically meant we'd be past the point of no return?

I got the feeling he knew he was going to be stuck with me as soon as he let himself go, and for that he was doing his best to stay in control.

He hadn't withheld his kisses, though.  It was the one thing I was afraid of most, that he would have reverted all the way back to the beginning, when he was all too happy to fuck me but refused to let his lips touch mine.  That had about killed me, and seeing him backslide that far emotionally would have been too much to take now.  I'd worked far too hard to get that first kiss from him, and it had been like a cataclysm when it finally happened.

But once I'd sat down on his lap in the barn and his arms had gone around me, his mouth had come straight to mine without even starting at my neck.

That was something.

And now he was very carefully scooting the little crib away from the side of the bed, over close to the wall.

"King - ?"

He didn't say anything, just stood there staring down at the baby as he stirred in his sleep, one hand held out to me without even looking at me.

 

I don't remember going to him, but I do remember him opening my towel and letting it drop to the floor as his eyes swept down over me, an almost imperceptible little nod of approval tipping his head.  And then the floodgates opened and three long months of awkward phone calls and stilted text messages flew right out the window, replaced by whatever was driving us toward each other now.  Forgiveness?  Denied longing?  Whatever it was, it was strong and it was impatient and by the time he dropped me onto the bed I had stopped listening for Pod to wake up.  His hands were all over me, touching and rubbing and stroking and squeezing, seemingly finding an intense delight in the overly lush bits remaining from my abundance of post-baby weight.  The way his fingers dug into my squishy thighs and exaggerated hips almost made me laugh, but I knew the hungry sensory side of him was finding fascination in the softness and new texture of my flesh.

It was sexy as hell, knowing he was lusting after something I'd frowned at in the mirror just moments before.

And lusting he was - I could feel him harden against my inner thigh and my own receptors immediately responded in kind, softening and dampening in the hopes of accepting that hardness.

_The stitches._

Fucking hell, not now...

"King...don't...don't put it in, okay?  I'm not ready for that yet."

He groaned against the side of my neck and I could feel his shoulders trembling, holding himself back.  He'd been waiting to hear me either grant or deny permission, and now he had a denial.  I knew it wasn't what he'd been hoping for, but I couldn't stand the thought of his face if he hurt me.  He would never forgive himself for it, or me for letting him.

But not putting it in wasn't a stop sign, and I slid my hands down to his butt to let him know he could continue without it.  He was wearing the Scottish farmer equivalent of long johns that he'd put on for the icy trip from the barn to the house, which had made me giggle as I watched him tug them on...but the way they clung tightly to his well defined backside pulled a moan out of me as I let my fingers slide down the backs of his thighs.  They were well worn and when my fingers hit a rip a few inches above the back of the left knee and I touched bare skin, his breath stopped for a moment.  And in that little space of time when the air slowly left his lungs and I realized I was holding my own breath as well, he reached down between us and pushed the front of them down.

I felt him naked against me, hard and hot and twitching, and I swear on all that's holy or unholy or anywhere between the two that my juices literally gushed for him.

 _"I won't, Mol,"_ he whispered raggedly against my ear.

It took me a second to remember what I'd asked him not to do, and I was on the verge of recanting my request when I felt a familiar ache in my breasts.  Him rubbing against my chest had triggered my letdown reflex, and they were filling with milk faster than I could look down to see the front of his shirt darkening with dampness where he was pressed against me. 

And just like that, the mood went _whoosh_ right out of me.

"King...stop.  Stop, please, okay?"

"Why - ?"

"Because...come on King, stop, I mean it.  I'm leaking everywhere."

"So what?"

"No I mean it, _stop."_  I gave him a hard push and he finally separated himself from me, a flash of anger narrowing his eyes.  I knew he didn't understand why I was making him stop and he was obviously frustrated with being so close and not being allowed to finish, but once there was some space between us I reached over to grab Pod's spit rag and started mopping myself up.  I was soaked in spilled milk and it was pooling in the middle of my chest, running down under my breasts and soggying the bedspread on either side of me.  "Look at this mess - "

Without warning, I saw King's eyes go dark and he licked his lips, and in that moment I knew I was in trouble.  Before I could scoot away from him he had dipped his head down and was slurping it up, licking the milk off my skin and then roughly grabbing my leaking nipple with his lips.

"King no - what are you - _oh_ my god..."

He wasn't about to stop, I knew that much from the familiar tautness of his back muscles as I whacked him on the shoulder blades with both hands, trying to get his attention.  No luck, he was gone...and in seconds I was laughing, covering my face in embarrassment at the awful slurping and smacking noises he was making.  He was noisier than Pod when he ate, all grunts and moans and that loud, wet gulping and swallowing.  And then, as he sucked at me, pulling and tugging at my nipple, I realized something beyond the strangeness of having a grown man drink from me.  It felt good.   _Too_ good - I could feel another sort of leaking, this time from between my legs, that familiar delicious tightening in my stomach and the chill of sudden brink-of-orgasm arousal.  He wasn't even trying to re-arouse me, it was just happening, and when he let my nipple pop out of his mouth and I saw a drop of my milk fall from his lower lip as he switched to the other breast, I was instantly every bit as far gone as he was.

I reached down between us and grabbed his cock, guiding it up between my legs to rub myself on the swollen head.

He latched onto my other nipple and I felt him sucking, hard.

It took all of maybe a minute and a half for me to start bucking under him, pushing up as hard as I could to grind on him, squeezing and pulling at him while I rubbed that slick, hard tip against my clit, chasing the first wave, followed quickly by a second, more intense one.  I knew we were going to wake the baby, but I didn't even care...all that mattered was hearing that final heady groan that always rumbled from King's throat when he came, always every bit as uninhibited and loud as my own gasping yelps of pleasure.  I'd never really noticed the irony of the two of us being such a noisy pair, but as we whined and cursed and made unintelligible sounds of pleasure and passion and undeniable ecstasy while the bed creaked under our thrashing weight, I almost laughed again.

Almost.

Because we were noisy when King loved quiet, and we were messy when I loved neatness, and somehow the incongruous nature of the way we shed our preferences for each other was perfect.   _We_ were perfect.  It had taken us a long damn time to realize it, but it was between us now, all sloppy and sticky and loud and uncontrolled and ultimately undeniable.  And as King gasped out the final stuttering breath of his climax and I felt the heat of his ejaculation on my thighs, I looked up at him until his eyes opened again and waited for what I knew was coming.  There was a betting pool going on dizzily inside my head as to which language he was going to say it in, but I knew he was going to say it.

I didn't _need_ to hear him say it though...it was in the way he had kissed me, in the way he had stopped just briefly to glance over at Pod when he'd heard him gurgle in his sleep, in the way his fingers had so gently stroked me without even knowing my reason for not wanting to go all the way with him.

I reached up and smoothed his furrowed brow with my fingertips.  He was having trouble catching his breath, his whole body trembling as he stared down at me.

"Mi cuideachd, milis," I said quietly.

His eyes widened for a moment, then he nodded, lowering his head to rest it against mine.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King (both images) by VivianStark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

**_Na bi a 'breithneachadh gach latha leis a' bhuain a bhios thu a 'buain, ach leis na sìol a chuireas tu._ **

**_  
Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant._ **

 

 

 

I woke up in the morning expecting to find myself alone - and I was, more so even than I expected.  The bed next to me was empty, though I could smell King's skin on the sheets and felt a smile coming on when I remembered that he'd stayed.

He'd stayed, and he'd held me all night.

He had gotten up to shower after our sort-of lovemaking and I'd assumed, as I dozed dreamily while listening to the water splashing over him from the bathroom, that the next sound I would hear would be the back door closing as he retreated, again, to the barn...but when he slipped back into bed beside me and I felt his wet hair on my shoulder as he spooned up behind me, I started daring to hope he might stay, that he'd forgiven me, that he trusted me again.

When I returned a few minutes later from washing the sticky stuff off my own skin, he was still there, already asleep with one arm stretched out over the rail of the little crib, fingers just barely touching Pod's little hand.

And now it was morning, and though he'd obviously left in the early hours, he had stayed at least a good part of the night.  A man like King didn't linger in bed long, not when there was work to do and a flock to tend to.  I hadn't really expected to see him after the sun came up.

That felt reassuring, at least.  He hadn't left because he didn't want to be here.  He'd left because he had things to do.

But as I stretched out across the bed with his pillow over my face, I suddenly realized something was amiss.

The crib next to the bed was gone.  Completely gone, along with my child.

"Wha - _ohmygod."_

Panicking, I dragged the sheet off the bed with me and charged stumbling into the kitchen where a very tall, very dark haired and heavily bearded man was standing at the stove I didn't even realize I had.  He turned and looked at me as I stopped in the doorway, shaking and yanking on the sheet that had twisted itself around my legs.

"Where's Pod?!"

He gave me a confused look and nodded toward the table;  Pod's crib was right there, close enough to me that I could have reached out and touched it without really even having to stretch.  My little boy was laying in it, craning his head around to locate mama's voice.

"We thought you could use a bit of a rest."

I almost collapsed with relief.  King had pulled the crib into the kitchen so I could sleep in...on the countertop was the leftover mess of breakfast that he'd obviously eaten hours ago, and my backup bottle for Pod was on the table with something in it.  I was side-eyeing it when he noticed and motioned for me to sit down.  "He got hungry and I didn't want to wake you.  That's from my best ewe."

"Your...ewe?  How did you get it?"

"The usual way."  He made a milking motion with his hands, holding back a laugh as I sat down heavily, shaking and suddenly feeling sick from the rush of panicked adrenaline.  But Pod was safe with his daddy, and he'd been fed and changed by the looks of it.  I wanted to pick him up but my hands were trembling and I was just the tiniest bit mad at King for scaring me like that.

"Very funny.  Did you take my son up the mountain in that godawful deathtrap?"

"Of course not."  He leaned over the crib, blowing on Pod's toes.   _"Our_ son."

"He's _my_ son if you do anything stupid with him."

He gave me a sideways look of annoyance, obviously not worried too much about my mood.

"I got him back to sleep so I left him in there with you.  Knew he was gettin' hungry though so I went up the hill to get him some milk before he woke again."

"You could have woken _me_ for that.  He's human, not bovine, or whatever sheep are.  You are aware of that, right?"

"Ovine."

"Ovine, whatever."  I could hear the irritation in my voice but couldn't stop it - and the fact that he didn't seem the least bit concerned about it was just making it worse.  And his little smirk when he'd said _Our son_ was rubbing me sorta wrong.  But he let my remark about the sheep go unsnarked and there was an edge of authority in his voice when he spoke again.

"Aye, but you didn't even stir when he started fussing.  You needed your sleep."

I couldn't argue with that and his slightly stern tone told me it would be wise not to, so I didn't even try.  He'd taken it upon himself to alter his own morning schedule so that I could rest.  What was I so irritated about?  I was used to taking care of Pod by myself, doing everything on my own, without help, without anyone else feeding and changing and looking after him.

Now King was doing things, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

And then it dawned on me in a shocking jolt of shameful realization.

_He was doing daddy._

And I, who had hoped and prayed that one day he would do that very thing, wasn't liking it very much.

He poured me a cup of coffee and sat down across the table from me, dragging Pod's little crib close to his chair so he could make faces at him.  And as I watched him, an overwhelming urge came over me that I was too tired, too relieved, too jetlagged and too shell shocked by everything to edit out.  I knew I'd lost that round, whatever it was.  The fight was gone out of me, replaced with something soft that melted around the edges as I sat there observing my son and his father interacting.

"What was your mother like?"

As soon as it was out, I couldn't figure out why I'd asked.  It was a drastic and sudden shift in subjects and even though that wasn't something I was unknown for, it still seemed a bit jarring to my ears.  And I was gambling, I knew.  King would either answer me or he wouldn't, but the mood my question put him in would determine whether he answered it later - or ever - if he chose not to right now.

He shrugged disinterestedly as he reached into the crib to jostle Pod's foot.  "Quiet.  Soft voice.  She spoke Erse mostly."

"Erse?"

"Gaelic."  Pod let out a loud squawk and King stared at him for a moment, a mildly amused look on his face before he sat back to toy with his coffee mug.  "Her family was very old...as old as my Da's.  Very traditional though, where the McClarys had moved on, gone modern.  She taught me all the old stuff, how to live with nothing, how to speak the old way.  She knew it suited me better than what my father taught me."

I watched him slowly turn his cup around and around.  He was talking, more than I had expected him to.  I could push my luck and keep going, or quit now and feel honored with the information he'd given me...but quitting wasn't in my nature, now more than ever.  "What did he teach you?"

"How to be king.  How to get my way.  How to gamble and drink and fight and make people respect you."  He made a disgusted sort of face, scrubbing at his beard with both hands.  "Nothing worthwhile."

He didn't seem agitated, only disinterested in his own words and distracted by Pod trying to pull his big hand down to his little mouth.  I decided to take advantage of the lack of annoyance in his voice and encourage him to give me a little more...because I knew so little about his parents, and becoming a mother myself had awakened a curiosity in me.

"Your mom only spoke...Erse...to you when you were growing up?"

"Mostly.  So I spoke it first, before a word of English ever fell out me mouth.  When I started to talk, about every other word was Gaelic."  He pulled his finger out of Pod's mouth and stroked it across the top of his little head.  "They thought I was retarded."

There was that word again.  I hated that word, especially when it was used in reference to King, either by himself or anyone else...but this wasn't the right time to educate him about the inappropriateness of a word that no longer held any rightful place in describing a human being, least of all him.

"Who did?"

"Kids in school.  People in the village.  None of the other kids spoke it so they thought I was spouting gibberish.  But it was how my head worked, I could only see some words in Gaelic.  Still do."

"So you grew up bilingual and people just didn't realize it."

He looked for a moment like he'd never realized it either;  he finally nodded, then sat back and ran his hands through his hair, staring at me.  There was something both questioning and...grateful?...in his face.

"You always think the best of me, Mol.  You're a good woman."

I laughed a little, unable to keep myself from thinking about that half-stoned conversation we'd had in the airport, of his ridiculously thick accent and the way he said _good._

"I'm Groot," I teased.  Anything to take the weight off the moment.  "And if you ever take my child up that hill without proper safety measures - and I mean a seatbelt _and_ a proper infant carrier seat - I won't bother trying to assume the best about you anymore."

He nodded, playing with his cup again, but his eyes were fixed on me as I stood and tied my sheet into a makeshift toga around myself and bent over to lift Pod from the crib.  I was moving past him to go into the bedroom to get dressed when he reached a hand out and stopped us.

 _"Our_ child,"  he said with a self satisfied grin.

I wasn't going to argue semantics with him anymore, especially since he was right and obviously wasn't about to let me get away with it.  "Yeah, well, there's very little doubt about that."  I rubbed a hand over the top of Pod's head, ruffling his freakishly abundant black hair before reaching down to do the same to King's.  "Now bring the crib back in the bedroom please, and don't think I don't see your foot on my sheet."

He chuckled softly and lifted his foot.

A solid smack on my backside as I passed him brought a yelp of surprise out of me and I jumped, spinning around to stare at him in shock;  he'd never slapped me on the ass outside of a sexual situation before, and it felt oddly endearing somehow - like we'd passed a milestone at some point during the night and were now in more comfortably intimate waters, wading in hesitantly but eager to see how far we could swim out before it got over our heads.  And as he sat there grinning at me, I realized that the edge of surliness I'd detected in his tone wasn't surliness at all...it was a playful baiting, I could see that plainly now, and I felt stupid for letting it irritate me.

And besides that, the familiarity of his hand on my bottom was exciting in an electric sort of way, and the fact that we were in the kitchen instead of the bedroom made it all the more thrilling.  With the remains of breakfast scattered across the counter and the baby in my arms - and an unshaven man sprawled lazily at the table with a cup of coffee in one hand and the other hand drawing slowly away from my hip - the whole scene was just so brazenly _domestic_ that I had to stop and think about it for a second before I reacted.

_How could this even be real?_

But it was, I wasn't in my bed in my apartment in Philadelphia dreaming about what I longed for.  I was in my kitchen in my house in Scotland, standing in the middle of it, staring it right in the face.

I had half a mind to scold him for the smack, but the smugly satisfied little grin on his face was more than enough to convince me to let him have this one.  If nothing else, I'd learned something important about King McClary.  He could be playful when it suited him...and something about the three of us together seemed to be casting a cheerful light over the sinister shadow that I used to associate with his presence.

I tugged my sheet out from under his foot where it had sneaked to again and headed for the bedroom, anxious to get dressed and think about this new development in private.  Because things were changing, and the King and I were going to have to figure out how to change with them.

 

 

I'd been in the bedroom for maybe ten minutes, dressed now and sitting on the edge of the bed feeding Pod to top him off from his breakfast of ewe's milk - which I wasn't really thrilled about but it had been his _best_ ewe, I supposed that had to count for something - when King came quietly into the room and got down on his knees in front of us.  He was gently kissing the top of Pod's head when something that had bothered me for the entire flight came edging back into my brain.

And as such things go, it made itself into words and promptly came out my mouth. 

"What are we King?  To you?"

He didn't look at me for a minute, and then he sat back on the floor and brought his eyes to mine.  I expected to see confusion in them, but mostly there was just a simple kind of introspection, like he was thinking about it but not too deeply.

"You're Molly," he finally said, gesturing vaguely toward himself with one hand.  "I'm King."

Well, it wasn't entirely _not_ what I'd expected.

"I know but...is there a word in your head for _us?_  Besides just, you know, Molly and King?"

A frown darkened his face for a long moment, but I knew he wasn't annoyed by my questions, just like he hadn't been in the kitchen.  He was just thinking about it, sorting things from English into Gaelic so he could understand them, and then putting them back into terms that I could understand.  It had to be a tiresome endeavor and I couldn't bring myself to rush him.

"Turadh," he finally said, his face scrunched up like he was really working hard to bring some sense to what he was thinking.  "It's...that time in between squalls of rain, during a storm, when the clouds clear and the sky lightens."  He stared at my knee for a few seconds, then nodded like he was satisfied with his choice.  "Aye.  Turadh.  Us."

I felt myself gasp a little bit at the beauty of what he'd just said.  For a man who spoke so little, he always made his few words mean so much.  The profoundness of that simple word - I could actually pronounce it, and repeated it under my breath so I could hear myself say it and commit it to memory - was so touchingly, achingly accurate that I really couldn't think of anything to say in response.  So I just nodded, letting him know that I understood.

After a few seconds he nodded again too, obviously content that he'd labeled us correctly.

We were turadh.  We were the still in the middle of the storm, that little bit of calm before things start raging again.

In King's mind, that was us.

And now it was us in mine, too.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Image of King by VivianStark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles, please don't post anywhere without credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

**_Tha smugaid aig lochdan beaga dhut fhèin math_ **

**_Wink at small faults, for your own are great_ **

 

 

True to his word, King reminded me that he was taking me into town for some necessities - he had gone up the mountain before daybreak and taken care of the sheep, leaving the dog up there with the flock to keep an eye on them while he was gone, and now as I pulled my boots on and bundled Pod in his little snowsuit I felt ridiculously excited about seeing the village again.

Not just that, though.  I was excited about seeing the village with King.

We'd never been seen together in Claighe as a couple with the exception of the day I left.  The day we'd hugged in the veterinarian's parking lot, the day he'd finally kissed me.  I didn't know how many people had seen it happen or if it had really happened at all, to be honest...but now we were walking out the door of the house he'd built for me to go into the town I now lived on the outskirts of.  It was thrilling in a ridiculously first-romance kind of way, and as we stepped out into the overcast morning I blinked hard and stopped on the edge of the porch.

King kept going, but soon realized I wasn't beside him and turned around to give me a questioning look.

"You alright?"

The view from the porch - _my_ porch - was breathtaking.  There was no other way to describe it really, and for once I was without words to the point of bringing a worried frown to King's face.  He came back to us, looking closely at Pod and then at me, finally stepping up onto the porch beside me and looking off in the same direction to see what I was staring at.  He even bent over a little bit to align his line of vision with mine, but the confused and questioning look on his face made it painfully clear that even though we were looking at the same thing, only one of us was truly seeing it.

He obviously didn't understand.  He saw this view every day, had for most of his life, but me - I was seeing it for the first time.  I'd driven past it during my work assignment, sure, but I'd never _looked_ at it, always in a hurry to get to the crest and get my testing done and get back down to the village before dark.

But now I was seeing it through the eyes of a different person, living a different life, with a whole different set of experiences laid out in front of me.

It was quite simply awe inspiring.  The mountain running up the back of the house, the long winding road through the foothills to the village, the creek twisting through the field and off into the woods that surrounded what I could only loosely assume was my front yard...and the narrow, rocky, uninvitingly rough road snaking off past the house and up the mountain to King's cabin.

It was astonishingly beautiful and I would have choked up a little if I'd been able to catch my breath. 

King stood there quietly beside me and I realized with a hard jolt that this was my reality now.  This view, this house, this life, whatever it was going to end up being.  Him standing beside me, not saying a word, just existing next to me.

I could live with it.

 

 

When I'd regathered myself enough to hand the baby to him so I could wipe my eyes without it _looking_ like I was wiping my eyes, I realized he wasn't headed toward his jeep.  He was bending over to let Pod touch the frost on the ground and I just stood there, confused, staring past him at something I hadn't noticed the previous night.

"King, whose car is that?"

He stood up and looked where I was pointing, turning back around to give me a _You daft woman_ look as he fished a set of keys out of his pocket and started off toward an SUV parked in the driveway.  How had I not seen it the night before?  We'd parked right behind it, hell I had probably put my hand on it as I walked past to steady myself on the cobblestone walkway to the porch.

Had I been  _that_ tired?

"King?"

"It's yours, Mol."

"What?  Mine?"

"Aye."  He opened the back door and started strapping Pod into an infant seat - a seat that looked new, was secured properly, and was even facing backward like it was supposed to be.  He looked over his shoulder at me for a second, a glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes.  "You two can't be riding around in my jeep, it's a death trap, remember?"

I guess my mouth was open like it so often was during conversations with King, but he just ignored my shock and climbed in after getting the baby secured.  He started the engine and leaned over to push the passenger door open while I stood there, staring, wondering blankly if there was _anything_ this man hadn't thought of.

"You knew we were going to stay, didn't you?"

He didn't answer me, just revved the engine a little and motioned for me to come on.

"Get in Mol, the bairn's gettin' cold."

I knew arguing with him would get me nowhere and I'd asked him enough questions for one morning.  It was time to just trust him, and take life as it came.

He seemed to have it pretty well under control.

It was a good thing one of us did, because aside from not even having a clean pair of underwear on my list of worldly possessions at the moment, I was wandering lost through an alien world, floating somewhere between the deep blue Atlantic and the wild North Sea.

 

As I climbed into the car and pulled the door shut he reached across me and buckled my seat belt, letting his hand rest for a moment on my knee before he moved it away.

"When did you learn Gaelic?"

I thought for a second about all the nights I'd sat up late Googling, typing phrases into the translation box, listening to Siri's stilted robotic voice pronouncing impossible words while I whispered them over and over to myself.  I'd memorized a handful of things that I wanted to say to him aside from what I'd said the night before, and right that moment would have been the perfect time to pull one of them out - but for the life of me I couldn't remember a single word.

"I picked it up from you."

The look he gave me was more warning than threat, and as we pulled out onto the long twisty road to town I suddenly remembered something I'd practiced a thousand times on the flight over.  I'd known in my heart that once he saw Pod in person, that once he actually touched his son and held him, that he would change his mind about the whole daddy thing.  No man's resolve could withstand the first time your child drools on your shirt.

And I had planned to call him out on it, because if I was going to live here, I wasn't going to be taking any of his shit anymore.  He was going to have to human up a little.

"Tha thu muladach."

He raised an eyebrow and shot me a sideways glance.

"Carson a tha mi nam mèirleach?"

I'd prepared for the probability that he would respond in Gaelic, but I still had to pause for a minute to get my words together.  He kept looking at me as he drove, waiting for my snapback, the tiniest hint of an amused grin crinkling at the corners of his eyes.  I put my finger up to make him wait and cleared my throat dramatically.  "Thuirt thu nach dèan thu dad."  I stumbled over the words and said about half of them wrong, but he seemed to understand what I was saying and laughed a little.

"I knew that was going to bite me on the arse eventually."

We drove in silence for a few minutes during which I noticed his eyes constantly flitting to the rear view mirror, checking on Pod.

"What changed your mind?"

"Him."

I was right.  King couldn't resist a baby, especially one that he could keep.

"Let me guess - the moment I put him in your arms you had an epiphany that fatherhood was definitely for you."

"Epiphany.  What the fuck?"  Pod squawked from the back seat and we both turned around to look at him, our heads almost bumping into each other.  "No.  I made up my mind the first time I saw him, on the sonogram screen."

I had to stare at him for a minute.  The human-ing up of King McClary had already begun, months ago, without me doing any prodding or poking or pushing.  There were so many things I wanted to say to him, but in the end I decided to just keep them to myself...because if there was one thing I knew to be pure gospel, it was that you didn't press your luck with him.

If he could learn to be human, I could sure as hell learn to be quiet.

 

 

We only stopped in the village long enough to get me some breakfast - it seemed King's intention was to take us into Glasgow - and as we sat in the front window of the bakery I noticed he kept shooting looks at my coffee.  It was a ridiculously frothy creamy sugary concoction, loaded up on top with whipped cream like the cappuccinos back home that I all but lived on, and as his eyes followed the oversized mug from the table to my lips I finally set it down and pushed it toward him.

"Want some?"

He squinted at me and sat back, stretching out in that owning-the-room way he favored.  "That's a girly drink if I've ever seen one."

"Coffee doesn't have genders.  Try it."

I didn't have to tell him twice; without another word he reached out and took it, loading his mustache with whipped cream and sugar sprinkles as he downed half of it in one go.  There was a hitch to his eyebrows when he put the mug back down.

"Good?"

It was obvious he didn't want to admit that he'd liked it...he was a straight black no sugar kind of guy, or at least I'd always assumed he was.  It was all I'd ever seen him drink besides wine and ale.  But the woman behind the counter was chuckling quietly and it occurred to me that these people had known King for a very long time, and as such there were questions I could be asking them.

And so I did.

"Did he like sweets when he was a kid?"

The woman stopped carving the ham or whatever it was that was spread out across the countertop and looked at me, then looked at King and raised her knife to point at him.  "When he were a _kid?_  He's still to this day the biggest sugarhound in Claighe.   _Kid_ has nothin' to do with it."

Well this was interesting.  I stared at King, but he was busy dipping his finger into the whipped cream and giving Pod a taste.  I didn't stop him, just sat there trying to stifle a giggle at the sight of the big strong man across the table, playing with a baby with a white ring of cream stuck in his beard around his mouth.  There was something almost unbearably sweet about the whole thing.

He was speaking quietly to Pod in Gaelic and Pod was pumping his little fists in excitement, eyes fixed obsessively on King's finger as he dipped it into the cream again.  The woman had gone into the back so I didn't get to ask her any more of the questions I had stockpiled, just waiting for a willing participant to answer them - but a moment later she returned and plopped a brown bag down on the counter.

"Here's your sweeties, McClary."

He nodded toward her.  "Tapadh leat."

I stared at him again - I couldn't seem to stop doing that - but he just got up and went to the counter to get his bag.  I'd been with him the whole time we'd been in the bakery and I hadn't seen him order anything.

"You have a standing order here?"

He shook his head, dropping the bag on the table; I grabbed it and looked inside, shocked to see an assortment of delicate little cookies and iced cakes. It was basically a bag full of prissy confections and I started to laugh at the idea of King, manliest of the manlies, eating such things.

"And you said my coffee was a girly drink!  These are...oh my god."  I stared into the bag in quickly escalating amusement.  "There's one in here with pink flowers on it."

He was strapping Pod back into his carrier seat and ignoring me, but I wasn't about to let this go.  "You're not just a sugarhound, you like _girly_ _donuts?"_  I pulled something out of the bag, about to die laughing at the sprinkles and multicolored icing swirls on it.  "What is this?  I don't even know what this is."  I shoved it toward him.  "You like these?"

He shot me a glare, but there was something soft and playful underneath it and I decided to quit before I gave him a good reason to get mad and toss me out of the bakery.  But the morning was still young and I'd already made one enlightening discovery about the father of my child...and something deep inside told me that any man who loved pastel macarons couldn't be as mean as he looked.

He snatched the dainty little whatever-it-was out of my hand and dropped it back in the bag, nodded to the woman behind the counter as he grabbed the bag off the table and hefted Pod's carrier, and headed for the door with me hurrying along behind him trying my absolute hardest not to laugh.  I was failing miserably, but he didn't seem to notice - and if he did he ignored me.

He was latching the carrier seat into its base in the back seat of the car when I caught up.

"You gonna share those?"

"Nope."

"Really?  You've got a big bag of goodies and you're not going to let anybody else have any?"

He dug around in his pocket and tossed something at me.  I caught it as it bounced off my sweater and was surprised once again at the sight of a hard candy wrapped in sparkly cellophane, sitting in the middle of my hand.

"What - wait a second, you carry candy in your pockets?"

He was ignoring me again, so while he was adjusting the seatbelt on Pod's carrier I came up behind him and pushed my hands into the cargo compartments of his kilt.  They came out full of the little hard candies and a fair number of squishy gummies.

"Are you serious?!  I thought you kept secret important _man things_ in your pockets and you're telling me there's nothing in there but candy?!"  I shoved my hand in again.  "What else have you got  - "

He was obviously getting close to having had enough of my nonsense, because he grabbed my hand and pulled it out of his pocket as I was going for another dive.

"Stop accosting me woman."

"I'm learning things.  This is research."  I looked down at the pilfered stash I had clutched in my hand.  "Oh my god what are these, sour worms?"

"This is you about to get an arse beating in public."  He was still holding me by the wrist and turned my hand over, squeezing till I was forced to open my fist.  "Leave me sour worms be, wench."

The way he said it - _soor wairms_ \- set me off and I started giggling uncontrollably as he dumped my handful of candy back into the cargo pocket of his kilt and shut the door, getting in on the other side and starting the engine while I stood there on the curb laughing and trying to process this new information.  Not only did the local baker give him pastries - apparently every time he came into the store - but he carried a stash of sweets on him too.  It ran so contrary to the image I'd always had in my head of the gruff, tough mountain man that all I could do was get in the car and try not to look at him...because he still had a white ring of cream around his mouth, and my hands were too sticky to hide my face with.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King with Pod by the great VivianStark (@vivianstark) exclusively for this series - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

 

_**Tha sgeul math a-riamh a 'teannadh anns an innse** _

_**A good tale never tires in the telling**_  

 

 

I kept quiet as much as I could on the trip to Glasgow - King didn't seem nervous, but he didn't seem like he was looking forward to a day in the city either, so out of respect for his sensitivity to noise and my voice in general I kept my yammering to a minimum.  There was a tense moment when Pod started to wail and I saw his shoulders go up as he white knuckled the steering wheel, but he just pulled over so I could get out and walk the little guy around for a few minutes.

He got out of the car and joined us once I had the baby calmed, standing a little way behind us without speaking as I bounced him and talked to him in a squeaky silly voice that soothed him - but that I knew would probably drive King insane if he had to listen to it for more than a few seconds.  It was becoming more and more obvious that Pod didn't share his father's sensory issues, at least where my voice was concerned.  I was glancing back at him to mention it when something behind him caught my eye.

One of the markers.

"Look!  See, I told you they exist, look - "

King squinted at me, his eyes falling to my frantically waving hand instead of to where I was pointing - something I'd noticed he often did - a confused look on his face as he finally turned around to see what I was on about.

"That old rock?"

"Yes!  That's one of the markers, it has your name on it."

He didn't seem impressed and he didn't seem to be the least bit interested in going to see.

"Go look at it!  It's got stuff about your family and the sliabh written on it."

"I know about my family and I know about the sliabh, I don't need to read what some idiot with a chisel thinks."

There was a curt shortness to his words that confused me for a second, and then something occurred to me.  Maybe he wasn't proud of his family history.   _Marauders and thieves._  The first McClary overlord had taken the lands by raiding and pillaging, though some accounts I'd read said the people wanted him to rule them - there seemed to be a lot of conflicting details in the telling of the tale and maybe a little bit of embellishment by historians over the centuries, but one thing was always consistent.

King was definitely the rightful king.

But the more colorful aspects of the stories, including more than one instance of inter-tribal wife stealing and spiteful barn burning, kept pulling at my curiosity.  King seemed to be following in the footsteps of his ancestors whether he wanted to or not...because he'd definitely stolen me from Ian, and if poor Ian's metaphorical barn wasn't metaphorically on fire the night I kicked him out, I wouldn't know what else to call it.

He was standing there staring across the road at the marker, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"You got a worm in there for me?"

Without turning around, he pulled a gummy out of his pocket and held it up over his shoulder.

"The blue ones will fuckin' turn your head inside out."

"Mah heed's alreedy insod oot."

He turned his head slowly, a glare of pure murder and mayhem - and maybe just the tiniest bit of humor - glinting in his narrowed eyes.

"You admire that marker over there so damn much, d'you know what it says?"

"Yeah, that Thomas the Fucking Marauder rode through the valley and pointed at everything yelling MINE!  MINE!  MINE!"

His expression didn't change and I started getting the feeling I should shut up.  His voice was even and slightly menacing when he spoke again, and it sent a shiver through me.

"It says you have to respect me or I can legally dispose of you."

"Does that mean divorcing me, or tossing me over the cliff?"

Something like a glint of mischief sparked up violently in his eyes and he tilted his head to one side.

"I haven't wed ye."

"No, you haven't."

"So the cliff it is then."

He stalked over to us and I took a step back; I wasn't sure why, really, other than the look in his eyes was just a bit too threatening for comfort.  I was afraid for a second that I might have pushed him just a little too far by mocking the way he talked, but as he took the baby from my arms and tucked him back into his car seat, something stupid in me decided to push him just a little bit further.  Just because I wanted to, and just because I could.

And like always, I obeyed the impulse.

I nudged up behind him while he was bent over with his head inside the car and slipped my arms around his middle.  There was a moment when he suddenly tensed and I started to back away, but he grabbed my hands and stood up, yanking me up against him.

"It also says I can have my way with you any time, any place, in any position of my choosing."

"I don't think it does."

"It's the bit in Gaelic at the bottom."

"You're making that up."

"You'll never know."

"Let me get my phone and I'll look it up."

His eyes were dark and his look had gone as cloudy as the sky and I don't honestly know who's foot got behind whose - but when I started to pull out of his grip we both went down in a tangle of twisted arms and legs with my head hitting the car door and his face crashing into my shoulder.  It was awkward and clumsy but he managed to keep himself from slamming me into the ground at the very least, with one arm behind my back to break the impact.

And just like that, we were face to face in the dirt beside the car next to an empty stretch of road halfway between Claighe and Glasgow, in the shadow of an historical marker that said King McClary had the right to do whatever it was he was about to do.  He was already up on his knees straddling me as he gave me a quick once-over to make sure I was okay, then his eyes went dark again with a look I recognized all too well.

I didn't struggle, because whatever it was he was about to do was more than okay with me.  Except for one thing.  I reached up and stroked his beard with my finger.

"Don't put it in, okay?"

He looked at me like I was crazy, then opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out.  There was a peppermint sitting on the middle of his tongue and I stared at it, vaguely wondering how many more little surprises he had tucked away in those deep pockets of his...and not just the literal pockets on his kilt.

Something told me that no matter how many times I shoved my hands into them, they would come out with something new each time.

 

Without thinking, I pulled his head down and sucked his tongue and the candy into my mouth.  He let me, and for a second I didn't even realize what I was doing, but it felt natural and exciting and the taste of him, the tickle of his beard, and the sweet bite of the peppermint flipped a switch in me somewhere.

But it wasn't the switch I expected.

I sat up and pushed him over to trade places with him - he allowed it with a smug grin on his face, obviously expecting me to get frisky with him - but when I had him on his back and was firmly seated on his stomach, I grabbed his wrists and tucked his hands under my knees to hold them down.  He didn't resist...until I leaned down to get close to his face and growled at him in my best, or maybe it was my worst, fake Highland accent, complete with exaggerated O's and dramatically rolled R's.

_"There can be only one."_

He stared up at me, completely blank faced.

"I can't believe you just said that to me."

I couldn't believe it either but now that I was committed to it, I couldn't stop there.  I'd seen that movie all of one time, but now that I was in the Highlands it all came rushing back in a flood of useless trivia and a bizarre meshing of fantasy and reality in my head.  "Let me guess - you're related to Conner MacLeod on your mother's side.  You're an immortal but the Kurgan never noticed you exist because you don't talk.  And you've got a big ass sword tucked away somewhere and one day you and Dave MacDale are going to do mortal combat because he stole your beer while you were in the bathroom and _we all know - "_

He pulled his hands out from under my knees and laid them purposefully on my thighs.

"Don't say it again."

"There can be - "

I felt his hands tighten on my knees.

" - only - "

The grip on my knees started to hurt just a little.

_"...one."_

"That's it."

He grabbed the end of my scarf and stuffed it in my mouth as he sat up under me, then yanked the rest from around my neck and started wrapping it around my face.  And then those long, strong fingers were digging into me - but not where I'd expected or hoped for.

"I recall you enjoy being tickled."

_Oh god no._

I tried to protest but my mouth was full of scarf.  He went mercilessly after my ribs like he had that morning in the cabin when he'd shoved me out of bed, and when I started to scream through my mouthful of wool we heard Pod's first round of snuffling grunts that meant he was about to cry.

"You woke the fuckin' baby, ya daft wench."

He pushed me over off him and stood up, dusting himself off right above me so that the dirt fell all over my head.   _Still defaulting to the mean spirited asshole caveman._  But I could see the playful side to him now more easily, the part of him that had been hidden under that angry face and those fearsome scowls, the part I'd always misinterpreted as malicious hatefulness and a disdain for everyone around him.

He was just a big kid who had never been taught how _not_ to play rough.

"Somebody should'a taught you some manners," I whined, shaking the dirt out of my hair and beginning the complicated process of unwinding my stupidly long scarf from around my face.  He'd twisted it into some kind of tight farmer's knot and I ended up just tugging it off over my head.  "You're rude and mean and your interaction skills could use some work."

"I recall tellin' you not to expect anything of me."

"Yeah, and then you totally went back on that by making two trips to the States, going with me to an obstetrician appointment, building me a house, and last but absolutely not least - "  I went silent for a moment as I watched him unbuckle Pod from his seat and pick him up, cradling him against his chest and whispering to him like I wasn't standing three feet away ranting like a madwoman - _"Doing daddy._  And quite well, I might add."

He gave me a wink over the top of Pod's head and started walking him around the car.  "Your cursed research should have clued you that the McClarys have always been socially dominant."

"Is that what you call it?  Acting like a jerk so that people back up when you walk into a room is _socially dominant?"_

"Aye, and your Thompkins are just the type we've clashed with for the past six hundred years.  Yappy gadabouts with big ideas about everything." 

"Oh yeah?  Your big badass ancestor was worse than the damn Finding Nemo seagulls!"  I started pointing at the surrounding valleys, spinning around and flailing my arms at each of them.  "MINE!  MINE!  MINE!!  What's that rock over there?  I want it, it's mine!  Is that a female over there watering some goats?  Ooh it's got a vagina on it, I want it!  MINE!  What, she's only eleven?  I don't care, MINE!  And I want the goats too dammit!  More vaginas!  MINE!"

The piercing wail of the car's horn nearly jolted me out of my skin and I spun around to see King had gotten back into the vehicle, giving me a vaguely threatening look over the steering wheel.

"Well it's true isn't it?  He rode through here on one of those Dwayne Johnson horses and pissed on everything he saw, then made an announcement that if it smelled like pee it was his, am I right?"

"Get in the car or I'm leaving your arse here."

I stood at the front of the hood with my hands on my hips, staring at him through the windshield.

"Why haven't you peed on me yet?"

"What makes you think I haven't."

"I'm not into water sports."

"You've been asleep in my presence more than once."

I thought about that for a second.

"Oh my god - you're despicable."

"Get in the fuckin' car, Mol."

He wasn't looking at me anymore; he was turned around leaning into the back seat, tickling Pod's foot to settle him.  And so I obeyed just like I always ended up doing, because nothing in me had any desire to defy him, even when he provoked the feistiness in my nature and it got the better of me.

As soon as I got in the car, he got out.

"What are you - ?"

I watched as he crossed the road and stood in front of the historical marker, and for a brief moment I thought he was actually reading it.  But when he turned around and I saw him tugging the front of his kilt back up, all I could do was groan.

He'd pissed on the marker.

And as he climbed back in the car with a big grin on his face, I shot him a nasty look that he soundly ignored.

"I guess it's yours now."

"It's always been mine," he said, starting the car.  "There's McClary piss on everything for a thousand kilometers, remember?" He reached over and smudged his thumb across my cheek where I assumed I still had some dirt from our tussle.   _"Mine."_

"Did you just rub pee on my face?"

His grin turned distinctly malicious and he chuckled wickedly as I scrubbed at my cheek with the back of my hand.

"Gross, King."

He shrugged, holding his hand up between us, the heavy silver crown on his finger glinting dully in the patchy sunlight through the windshield.

"There can be only one."

 

 

It was misting and chilly when we arrived in Glasgow but I didn't care - King let me wrap Pod's sling around him and the little guy fell asleep again almost instantly, no doubt lulled by his father's heartbeat thudding soothingly against his cheek.  I could sympathize with that, it had happened to me too many times to count.  He buttoned his coat up over him till just his little sleeping face was sticking out and it was all I could do not to explode in a sobbing mess of squealing adoration...Pod was nestled in the same exact spot King carried his lambs in, and it was too precious for words.

We walked around George Square until I had a few bags of basic necessities - some clothes and personal things, enough to hold me over until my stuff started arriving from the States - and King followed along beside me quietly, letting me lead him anywhere I wanted to go without a single complaint or eye roll.  He'd even followed me without any fuss into a giant cosmetics store and dutifully offered up his opinions on lipstick shades when I started shoving them in his face, asking what he thought looked good on me.

We had worked our way halfway up Buchanan street when a noisy sidewalk band started playing and I saw him physically tense up.  He'd been doing so well, handling the street traffic and the crowds without much negative reaction, but it was obvious the loud drums and shrill bagpipes were more than enough to set his nerves on edge.  "Do you want to go back the other way?" I asked him quietly, giving his arm a gentle tug toward a random shop that was close enough to duck into for some quiet.  He shook his head and glanced up the street with something that looked more like an annoyed distemper than discomfited overload.

"Naw, I knew those flighty buggers would be here somewhere."

I turned around to look where he was staring and saw the band of rattily dressed street musicians in blue and green tartan kilts, all heavily bearded and mostly either very blonde or very red headed, starting to wail on their drums while the older man at the front shouted at the gathering crowd.

"You don't like their music?"

"It's not music, it's a call to war."

"Yeah?  Against who?"

King frowned, and I saw him roll his eyes for the first time that day.

"Against the McClarys."

And with that he turned around and walked away, headed for a bakery and sweet shop a few doors down with me trotting along behind him, trying to catch up and more than just a little bit dying to know what he was talking about.

 

 

The elderly woman in the bakery offered up a huge smile when we walked in, setting her tray down on the counter and erupting in a steadily rising "Awwww!" when she saw King carrying the baby.

"If it isn't  _am maighstir!_  I missed you last month, you darling boy."  She came out from behind the counter and tugged King's coat open, peeking at Pod's little sleeping face nestled under it.  "And he brings us an heir, bless us."

I'd long since stopped being surprised at how many people knew King, but it did shock me a little that he let her touch him like that.  She seemed very familiar with him and I stepped out from behind him with my hand out, anxious to get to know this person who obviously had some history with him.

"I'm Molly," I started, but I was drowned out by the noise of the street band when an arriving customer opened the door behind us and the music blasted in around them.  King headed for the back as the woman scowled and reached out to take my hand.

"Those flighty buggers and their drums.  Eh, the tourists enjoy them though."  She shook my hand firmly and then nodded toward a table in the back where King was already pulling out a chair.  "Go on through and settle in with Thomas, I'll bring ye some coffee for the chill."

 _This is good_ , I thought.   _Every old woman in every bakery in Scotland apparently knows King._  I could get some information, maybe learn something...watch my big manly male tuck in on some dainty puffy pastry while I was at it.  I was still giggling a bit over the morning's discovery and couldn't wait to see what he ended up snarfing down this time.

I sat down and the woman came back out a few seconds later with two black coffees and a plate of what looked like glazed bread; King thanked her and started eating quickly, and while his mouth was full I grabbed the opportunity to start asking questions.  I didn't want to be too obvious, so I started with the noise that was still assaulting us through the big front windows.

"Those guys outside, the musicians - "  I thought about the scowl that had darkened King's face as soon as the music had begun.  "What's that they're playing?"

She shook her head and shot a sympathetic look at King as he ate.  "They must have seen the boy here, they always do that when he comes to town."  This was the second time she'd referred to King as _boy_ and I was dying to know why.  She appeared to be in her mid seventies and I was hoping beyond hope that she'd known him when he was a kid.  "It's the Auchinleck versus McClary battle challenge," she continued with a note of obvious annoyance in her tone.  "Like two drunken shites calling each other out for a brawl behind ta' pub.  They were the clan that stood against the McClarys from the start, the only idiots stupid enough to refuse their rule."  She pointed to the third brightly colored coat of arms tapestry hanging on the wall behind her.  "That's them, rebellious fools.  Still being arseholes and making noise."

This I had to see.  I got up and went to the wall, noticing that the first tapestry looked just like Pod's quilt.  Clan McClary.  It sent a little shiver through me to see it in person.  The second was MacAlister, followed by Auchinleck - but it wasn't the fancy art on the crest that caught my eye, it was the clan motto stitched under it.

_PRETIOSUM QUOD UTILE._

Under that was the English translation.

_What is useful is valuable._

I had to stare at it for a minute.  How many times had King made it a point to say that to me in one form or another?  His entire philosophy of life seemed to focus on the simplicity of useful things, and anything he couldn't find a use for was of no value to him.

The old woman walked past me to return to the counter and I stopped her, pointing to the tapestry.  "Who are they to him?"

She shook her head tiredly, as if this was something that had been a point of annoying contention for a very long time.

"They're his mother's clan."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

**_Nas fheàrr a bhith nad aonar na ann an droch chompanaidh_ **

**_Better to be alone than in bad company_ **

 

 

 

It took all I had not to run back to the table and smack King in the back of the head.  He'd never told me he had living relatives, and from what I could gather, a whole mess of them were standing outside blasting their bagpipes at him in a rowdy call to arms.  But I kept my curiosity under control - he was stressed enough, having to listen to that loud banging music - and when I got back to the table he had switched from the glazed bread to ice cream and was silently eating as if nothing was going on.  Pod was awake and I could see that he'd already given him a taste of it.

"So...your mother's people, huh?" I asked quietly, hoping to lure him into giving up some details without coming across as demanding as I checked the baby to see if he needed to be fed.  "I'm guessing you don't like them much."

He didn't say anything for a minute, then shrugged a little as he licked the sprinkles off his ice cream cone.  "Me Mum wasn't supposed to marry me Da.  That noisy bastard out front with the silver beard, her brother.  He never let them forget."

"So that makes him your uncle, right?"

He looked at me like I was stupid, but didn't say anything.

"So they're doing this war cry thing to mess with you?  They'd probably stop and talk to you if you went out there?"

"They don't talk.  They yell."

He seemed completely disinterested in having this conversation with me so I checked the baby one last time - he was still happily nestled against King's chest, being fed little licks of ice cream every time he grunted - and excused myself to go sit at the counter where the old woman was icing some tiny cakes that I had a pretty good idea were going to end up in a bag for King.

"I didn't get your name, I'm sorry," I said thanking her as she poured me another cup of coffee.  "I'm guessing you knew him when he was a kid?"

She smiled at me, glancing past my head at the table where King and Pod were sitting with their backs to us.

"Aedna," she said, pointing to herself with the icing bag.  "Aye I knew him, I've known that boy since before he were born and his Mum and Da before him."

"Yeah?"  I couldn't believe my sudden streak of luck, getting two of these in one day.  It seemed odd that people actually _knew_ King.  I had a child with him and I didn't know him.  "What was he like?"

"Noisy," she said with a tinge of sadness in her voice.  "Poor child screamed from the moment his lungs first filled with air.  His mum Christa, bless her soul, she couldn't put him down - always carrying him, always tired and ready to drop, always rocking him, singing to him.  His Da, Thomas William bless him, he wouldn't let her keep him at home.  So every time you heard a baby squallin' like death had touched its wee head you'd know they were about to come through the door."

 _Christa._  His mother had a name now.  It wasn't what I'd expected - it seemed too young, too pretty, and it made me sad when I remembered how young she'd been when she died.  But this thing about King being a noisy baby was too interesting to let go without details.  I had a feeling I knew what it was about but I needed more information, not just for the diagnosis that was forming in my head, but for the simple fact that King's past was a treasure that I couldn't resist putting my anxious little hands on.

"What was wrong with him?"

"Nobody ever knew.  His Da always said he had the disposition of a hornet and the twice the temper.  Nobody could soothe the little bugger, we all tried, when Christa would let someone else hold him...until one day right around his first birthday he just - "  She went silent for a second, making a waving motion in the air " - stopped crying.  Never made a sound after that.  Never cried, never fussed.  Didn't even speak his first word till he were nearly three, we all though he were going to be mute."

I let her lapse into silence while I drank my coffee, filtering what I knew.  What she'd said wasn't surprising at all - my research had told me a lot about that very thing and I knew its name.   _Sensory colic._ I almost said it out loud, but something told me Aedna wouldn't know what the term meant.  But I knew...I'd read about this exhaustively, expecting Pod to have it...and it broke my heart to think of King as a baby, not understanding why everything was so bright and noisy and utterly helpless to calm himself in any way, with parents most likely assuming it was gas or, like his dad apparently believed, just a bad disposition and a rotten temper.  Poor baby's nervous system was too finely attuned, overloading him constantly with every sound, every light, every bit of motion around him.  He couldn't filter it and his nerves magnified it all to a fever pitch, and all a newborn can do to deal with it is scream.

His poor mother, too.

"What was she like?  His mother?"

Aedna stared past me for a long moment, and I knew she was looking at the back of King's head.  There was a sadness in her eyes when she finally looked at me again.

"She were an angel.  She loved that boy and she loved that man of hers, but god help her, she never wanted to be the Banrigh.  She would have stayed home with him till he were grown and just shielded him from the world if she'd had her way, but Thomas - "

I waited, anxious to hear this.  It was starting to look like it was Christa's influence that shaped King's personality the most.  I glanced back over my shoulder at him and then nodded to her to continue, fairly certain that he couldn't hear us from the table where he was slowly rocking Pod back and forth.

"But Thomas?"

"Aye, but Thomas dragged them both with him everywhere.  He were a good Righ to be sure, but it weren't until he were older that he took his position serious.  By then Christa, bless her soul, she was gone and he were raising little Thomas on his own."  She motioned me to come closer as she leaned over the counter, lowering her voice.  "And not doing a very swell job of it, to be honest."

"Yeah?  Why?"

"Young Thomas wasn't an easy boy to bring up.  He were about a step and a half out of tune with everybody around him and he let the whole world know it.  He caused trouble, got into fights at school, did mischief every time eyes were averted. _He set fire to the chief constable's barn."_

That last bit was whispered with so much dramatic emphasis that I started to laugh.

"Boys do that sort of thing, sounds pretty normal to me."

"The chief constable were locked inside it at the time!"

"Oh."

I didn't want to say it, but he was sounding more and more like his ancestors, running around being mean for the hell of it, lighting things on fire, acting like a...well, like a marauding Celt.  Which was what the McClarys were from day one, according to their history.  Couldn't fault King for his genetic predispositions.

But something told me he hadn't behaved like that for the fun of it, like a typical teenage boy would. _He were about a step and a half out of tune with everybody around him._  I'd seen that for myself, and to be honest sometimes it was more like two whole steps.  And like a newborn crying inconsolably because they just can't cope with the noise and light and constant activity of the gigantic world around them, he reacted to the still noisy, still bright, still too-active world around his teenage self with silent screams of socially unacceptable behavior.  

Those silent screams were meanness and mischief and the constant need to lash out at the noise when he couldn't escape it.

And just like the newborn's ear piercing cries affect everyone around them, his silent screams did the same.  Only it wasn't sleeplessness and frayed nerves for the people in his life...it was barns burned to the ground in the middle of the night and physical assaults in the high school hallway.

And now as an adult, slamming Dave MacDale's head into the bar at the tavern seemed to do the trick.

Tossing me into the snow when he couldn't get away from me.

Keeping himself hidden away up there on that mountain.

_Oh King._

I was about to ask more about his mother when the door flew open and a man's voice, so heavily accented with a loud, harsh brogue that I'd come to associate with people who lived in the hills, started yelling something I could barely understand.

The only part of it that I caught was _"Thought ye could hide the Prince from the Queen's kin did ye?!"_

Aedna immediately rushed from behind the counter and headed for the man, protesting loudly, but he was already halfway to the table where King was sitting when he started yelling again, this time in Gaelic.  There was a fair amount of cursing peppered throughout his ranting, but none of it sounded particularly threatening...just antagonistic and obnoxious and very very _loud._

I suppose it was my protective mothering instinct that made me jump off my counter stool and rush toward him after Aedna, but to be honest I couldn't tell you who I felt the most need to protect - my baby or my man.  But when King stood up and turned around, I stopped where I stood.

It was a tense moment and Aedna, standing in front of the man with her hands up to stop him, was looking back at King over her shoulder with an angry look on her face.

King shook his head at her and she dropped her hands, stepping out of the way.

The man closed the space between the two of them a little too fast for my own suddenly fraught nerves, his big voice dropping its menacing tone and taking on something more like a mildly unhinged sort of sarcastic glee as he shook a fist in front of King's face.

 _"Our fucking king!_  He graces us with his presence and he brings ta' Prince, aww look at the wee lit'l bugger."

In a rush of panic I ran at him and grabbed his arm just as he was reaching out to touch Pod's head, but King shook his head at me.

"No Mol - it's alright."

"Aye Mol, it's alright!" the man mimicked, laughing as he roughly rubbed Pod's hair.  "He's got ta' look o' the devil aboot him, just like his fuckin' Da!  Poor wee bugger."

King was holding Pod tightly but wasn't stopping the man from touching him, and I finally couldn't take any more of this noisy brash stranger manhandling my child.  Stepping in between them, I took Pod from King's arms and shot the man an angry glare as I moved back to the counter, shushing him when he started to fuss about being taken away from his father.  The man didn't even seem to notice, just stood there staring at King with a smirk that was every bit a challenge as much as a greeting.

When he finally spoke again, I saw King visibly tense up.

"How ye been, ya gigantic pair o' boar's balls?"

There was a long bit of silence before King answered.

"I'm good, ya flamin' arsehole."

"Bampot dickheed."

"Glakit bawbag."

The whole place went quiet - there had been five, maybe six other people in the bakery chatting and having hushed little conversations when we'd come in, but now not a word was spoken as everyone watched the two men staring each other down.  King was taller and younger but honestly, if a fight had broken out I couldn't have been called on to predict a winner.  The older man was wiry and tough looking, more heavily tattooed and bearded than King and every bit as scary with his scowl.

I stared at the two of them until I couldn't take it anymore.  They were obviously perfectly content to stand there shooting insults at each other until the bakery closed and Aedna shooed them out the door, but Pod was starting to fuss and despite his obnoxious demeanor, this man was someone I wanted to meet.

"Are you King's uncle?"

The man shoved a finger in King's face, ignoring me completely.

"Yoo're comin'to sup an' you bring that prionnsa ta' meet yer kin, ya glaikit hoore."

I looked at Aedna for help.  "What the hell is he saying?"

"You and the stupid whore are invited to dinner so the family can meet the baby."

"He called me a stupid whore?!"

"No, he called Thomas a stupid whore."  She shook her head and waved her hand to shush me when I opened my mouth to say something else.  "It's between them, you'll have to ask the boy."

Before I could say anything else the door flew open again and two men roughly King's age burst through it.  I couldn't understand a word either of them said, but there were slightly rougher than playful punches and jabs made toward him before the shorter one grabbed him up in a violent hug.  I had the very bad feeling someone was about to get decked, but after a few seconds of a ridiculous amount of noise they all headed back for the door again, with uncle following.  One of them gave me a wave and a big grin on their way out.

And just like that, what I'd assumed was going to turn into a highland battle royale just - ended.  The men left and a moment later we heard the drums start up again outside.

I looked over at King, feeling a little bit shellshocked and not really sure what to think.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded, heaving a heavy sigh as he raked his hands through his hair.  He looked like he'd just been through something traumatic and I felt torn between anger at the unnecessary assault and confusion over what had actually just happened.

"Did I just meet the relatives?"

He stared at me for a minute, then nodded.

"Aye.  Sorry.  That were me uncle and two of the cousins."  A frown darkened his face as he glowered out the window at them;  they had set up on the sidewalk outside the bakery and were playing something very loud and very bagpipey, no doubt just to mess with him a little more.

"I take it you're a stupid whore and we're invited to dinner?"

King winced, obviously regretting the fact that I'd come up with an accurate interpretation of the nonsense.  He took a deep breath and shut his eyes tight.  I wanted to tell him _It's not going to all be gone when you open them again_ but he finally nodded his head, carefully looking at the baby and not at me.

"Aye...that's about the size of it."

I stood there staring at him for a minute, trying to figure out if this was a good thing or a disaster waiting to blow up in our faces.  King had family - actual blood relatives - and they were the noisiest bunch of people I'd ever spent three and a half minutes with.  They were so unlike King it was almost comical.

He looked like he'd just gotten busted cherrybombing the toilets in the junior high locker room and was regretting not locking the door first.

"Well then," I said cheerily, giving him a big smile as Aedna shook her head and sighed.  "I guess we have plans for tonight."

 

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

 

 **_Bidh cunnart agus toileachas a 'fàs air aon stal_ **  
  
**_Danger and delight grow on one stalk_ **

 

 

 

"Where are we going?"  

King glanced over at me, but his eyes stopped before they got to mine and I could tell he was a little bit angry.  He was keeping it to himself though, as best he could - the silence was heavy but at least he hadn't taken his irritation out on me.  He was getting better about that.  I'd made it obvious I was looking forward to dinner with the Auchinlecks, but I wasn't the one who had initiated the invitation and he couldn't hold any of it against me without having to fight with me about the fairness of it.

I didn't think he could handle any more annoyances between now and dinnertime though, so I just waited for him to answer me without pushing him for a response.

"Kinrick" he finally said after a pause so long that I'd decided he just wasn't going to answer me at all.

"Kinrick?"

He nodded, turning to look at Pod in the back seat.  I'd noticed he almost never used the rear view mirror; his Jeep didn't even have one, but it barely had a motor or brakes so it was no surprise.  The car we were in - _my_ car, I thought excitedly - was nice and I was excited that I had a way to get myself into town without having to depend on King to come down off the hill and drive me in that ridiculous rattletrap of his.  He'd made sure I had autonomy and independence and I appreciated that so much.  But none of it kept my thoughts at the moment, because the day so far had been pretty damn spectacular in terms of my ongoing education about the man sitting beside me.

He had _relatives_.  He liked cupcakes and ice cream and old ladies loved him, but dear god above, there were people who actually shared blood and history with him.  People who'd known him and his parents on a level that the villagers and people scattered around the bakeries of Glasgow didn't.  And not only did he have relatives, we had a dinner date with them, and _we were actually going to go._   Granted, he hadn't verbally agreed to it - but I wasn't about to try to confirm it with him in case he changed his mind once it was put into words.  His failure to protest when the invitation had been thrust upon us seemed to be enough of a confirmation.

At the moment it appeared I was going to meet the in-laws, generally speaking.

This was huge.

And now a new mystery was piled on top of it, and the giddiness of more discovery was making it impossible for me to sit still, much less contain my curiosity.  When I couldn't stand the silence any longer I stared out the window just long enough to muster up my courage, then took a deep breath and asked,

"What's Kinrick?"

He didn't answer, of course.

We drove on in silence, and when we pulled over a little while later so I could change Pod and feed him, King sat on the hood of the car staring off into the distance like he had the weight of the world bowing his back.

 

 

We'd left the city and were currently on a long lane that twisted through some beautiful countryside, all lined with tall trees and looking like it had once been well manicured and meticulously landscaped.  But the further we went, the shaggier and less tended the grounds became, until we passed under a stone arch that had some sort of Celtic lettering carved into it and came out the other side into the main grounds of what looked like a huge estate.  The house at the end of the road was big and imposing...and very much in disrepair, all overgrown with moss and ivy with untended shrubbery and weeds that had long since taken over the lawn.  But the place had a dark, foreboding sort of beauty to it and I was about to ask if it was the relatives' house when I saw the coat of arms on the gate and gasped out loud.

It was the same as the one on Pod's quilt.

It took me a second, but it finally hit me.

"This is your house?!"

King didn't say anything, just pulled up to the gate and got out to kick it open.  It creaked malevolently on ancient rusty hinges but gave way when he put his shoulder into it; he came back to the car and looked at me for a second like he wasn't sure any of us should be here, but there was also an unmistakable air of _master of the domain_ about him.

"I need to get something here," he said quietly.  His voice had a distinctly curt edge to it and I could tell this wasn't an errand he was happy to be running.  "It won't take long.  You can stay in the car with Pod if you want."

"No way!  I want to see the house!"

He shrugged, putting the car back into gear without saying anything else.

 _The family estate._ Glenda had mentioned it once, briefly - King had lived here at some point in his life.

I couldn't _wait_ to see it.

But he didn't seem the least bit happy to be here, and as he parked us near the front doors and I watched him go around the back and come back a few minutes later with a big set of keys, the look on his face grew darker and his shoulders sagged a little more each time I looked at him.  This wasn't a happy place for him.

I could understand why.

King was a wild creature, only half tamed and then only when he had to be.  This house had obviously once been a beautiful place - but it was domesticated and fancy, two things he definitely wasn't.  Although now it was starting to look more like him, ragged and untended and reverting back to the wilderness it had been carved from.

"You comin'?"

He didn't have to ask me twice...and something told me he wouldn't have.

 

Aside from the dusty sheets covering the furniture and the shuttered windows, the place looked like someone still lived there - pictures still hung on the walls, ornate rugs decorated the floors.  King pulled the sheet off a long leather sofa and I laid Pod down on it, tucking my coat alongside him to keep him from rolling off while I gave in to my immediate urge to run to the far wall to look at all the pictures hanging there, all beautifully framed and a bit eclectically arranged.  There were dozens of portraits, some painted and some photographed, of men who each strongly resembled the current king.

I stood there in awe, looking at the faces of what I could only assume were every Thomas McClary that had worn the crown ring, all the way back to a black-bearded tartan-clad warrior on horseback.

The resemblance between all of them was shocking.  And when King walked up behind me and his reflection echoed back in the dull glass that covered the painting, his face melded almost perfectly with the face of the man he was named for.

"Are these all...are they all the kings before you?"

He nodded, and I could feel his warm breath on the back of my shoulder.

"Aye...Thomas McClary, every last one o'them."

Standing there staring at this wall of his ancestors, it was starting to look disturbingly like King had been born over and over and over for the last six hundred years, coming back each time still looking like himself, but in a new era that he fit into less and less with each rebirth.

It didn't seem so terribly farfetched.

 

I had so many questions.  I wanted to know everything he knew about all of them, but it was obvious this wasn't the time - we were here for a reason, King had come here specifically to get something.  But I knew he could tell that I was dying for him to share something with me, anything...so as he turned away to head for the long hallway that led from the giant front room, he gave me just enough to make me happy.  He pointed absently at a photo sitting on the mantel over the fireplace on his way past.

"My Da."

I waited until he was out of the room before rushing to the mantel, but stopped myself just short of grabbing the picture; I didn't know if these were sacred, precious, or despised artifacts of his past and I was suddenly afraid of touching anything, but the dusty picture in the heavy brass frame almost took my breath away.  The man in the photo looked so much like King it could have been him, right down to the shaggy beard and unruly dark hair.

But his eyes were different.  King didn't have his eyes.  I went back to the wall full of Thomases and looked from one to the next, searching for King's big soft earth-green eyes, but they weren't in any of the faces there.  All of the previous McClarys seemed to be blue eyed, and none of them had that softness to their gaze.  Only the harsh scowl that King so easily slipped into.

I saw that in almost every one of them, but it was a look to be put on when the mood called it up, not an actual physical trait that he'd been born with.  It was something he'd learned.  I didn't know why my hands started shaking just about then, but I did know one thing...if King didn't have his father's eyes, he must have his mother's - and there was a picture of her somewhere in this house.

 

It didn't take me long to find it.

It was on the mantel near the picture of his father, dusty and difficult to make out, but I could see immediately that it was a woman and a man and I _knew_ it was them.  I wanted so badly to pick it up and wipe it on my sweater to clear the dust off it so I could see their faces, but I refrained from touching it.  It just seemed too...holy?  The thought of this house holding sacred artifacts made me laugh a little, but it was a nervous laugh and I held my breath for a second, asking myself if I really wanted to do this.

King hadn't said not to touch anything...I would have obeyed him if he had.  Pod gurgled from the sofa and I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't too close to the edge, then looked nervously toward the hallway that he'd disappeared through.

And then I picked it up and blew, blinking stupidly when the dust billowed off the glass in a small cloud that instantly triggered a sneeze and startled the baby.

It was them.

_King's parents._

 

 

I stared at it for the longest time, swallowing down the lump that kept coming up in my throat, telling myself it was just the dust and not some silly sentimental sadness triggered by finally seeing my son's grandparents.  King Senior and his Queen, looking most decidedly happy, most decidedly in love, and most decidedly non-royal.

It was amazing, and it was heartbreaking, but mostly it was enlightening.

And there were King's eyes, right there in Christa McClary's smiling face.

 

King came back into the room and stopped at the doorway.  I had no idea how long I'd been standing there staring at the photo, but when I noticed he was in the room I looked over at him guiltily and held it out to him.

"I'm sorry - I - _your mom."_

He nodded, his eyes on the picture in my hands.  "I'm in that photo."

I looked at it again, scanning the background for him, then noticed the very slight bulge of Christa's stomach.

_Oh my god._

"King this is...this is beautiful."  I looked up at him again, but he wasn't looking at me.  He was still staring at the picture.  "Why don't you have it at your cabin?"

He shrugged, going over to the sofa to lean over Pod; he tickled his belly and smiled when he started jabbering at him.  "I'm done here, lets go."

"What?  No, wait - I want to see the house, can we stay for a little while?  Just a few minutes?"

I knew he was going to say no - I could feel it in my heart, that being here was hurting him in some way.  But I also knew this might be my one and only chance to see the place, and it wasn't an opportunity I was about to pass up.  He could wait in the car if he felt the need to.

He jiggled Pod's feet for a minute, saying things to him in Gaelic in a voice so soft it didn't even sound like him.  _He's got a daddy voice already_ I thought as I listened to it.  And just when I thought he was going to stand up and tell me to get my coat on, he sat down instead.

"Go ahead," was all he said.

 

Wandering around that big old house by myself was a lesson I would never forget.  It was full of history and the sort of wealth that you'd never guess King had grown up with by looking at him.  But it was _old_ wealth, the kind that's been around for generations, the kind where everybody's long forgotten who it was that originally made the fortune and nobody really cares anymore.

I knew King had added to it in recent years, backhandedly helming the company that had been left to him...but it was painfully obvious not a cent of it had gone into upkeep of the house.  The furniture was all ancient, handcrafted and beautiful but very much from an age long come and gone, well worn and lived on but starting to get creaky and faded.  Everything was a rich dark mahogany and some of the walls and floors were raw stonework, creating an oddly surreal contrast to the crystal chandeliers that hung in a couple of the bigger rooms.  There were leaves on the floors that had blown in from broken windows and they crunched under my boots as I crept quietly from room to room, looking for signs that a boy called King had once played here.

There wasn't much evidence of him.

And then I found it, in exactly the place I had guessed I would.

The library.

 

It wasn't huge, but it was filled to the ceiling rafters with leather bound books - what looked like thousands of them, some so old that the covers were disintegrating.  It was the room that showed the most use out of all the parts of the house that I'd been in so far, and I wondered how many of the previous McClarys had shared King's love of reading.

Obviously a lot of them, by the looks of it.  The furniture here was much more worn with use, and books were stacked everywhere - almost like each generation grew more and more lazy about putting things away, and as the decades passed the piles of read books grew taller.

There was a ladder to the higher shelves, but what caught my eye was a section of shelving just behind it that had randomly empty spots where there were no books.  The edges of the wood were worn down on each level, all the way up.  I was staring at it, trying to figure out what was so odd about it, when King came in with Pod in his arms.

"You found the only room I like in this place."

"I had a feeling this was it."

He saw me staring at the shelf and came over to me, putting Pod into my arms before turning to shove the ladder out of the way.

"Me grandda put the good stuff on the top shelves."

Before I had a chance to ask _what good stuff?_ he had scaled the shelves all the way to the ceiling, grabbing a book off the top shelf and clambering back down quicker than it took me to realize what he was doing.  It made sense when I watched him coming down, his boots hitting each of the worn spots on the edges of each shelf.  The wood had worn away over years of him purloining his granddad's secret books.

"And what was wrong with the ladder?" I asked as he handed the book to me.  It was a volume of Victorian erotica.

"Grandda used to take it away."

"Did he live here with you?"

"Aye.  Da left for a while after mum died."  He took Pod from me and left the room, leaving me standing there with an ancient book of dirty stories in my hands, wondering how much more cryptic half-information I was going to find out about this man before the day ended.

And dinner with the Auchinlecks was looming ahead of us like a noisy, obnoxious episode of Drunk History just waiting to start.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *artwork of King and Pod by @vivianstark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

 

**_Bidh amadan a 'dèanamh fèistean agus bidh daoine glic gan ithe_ **

**_Fools make feasts and wise men eat them_ **

 

 

 

The library was full of interesting things that I wanted so badly to investigate - but we had someplace to be and I had no idea how far of a drive it was to get there, so I glanced around quickly and then stood there staring at King with the most imploringly pleading look I could manage.  He was standing by the doorway bouncing Pod gently against his chest and gave me back a scowl that would have worked on me once upon a time.

I knew him a lot better now, though.  That scowl didn't do near as much to my nerves as it used to and I just stood there, clutching that well worn old book to myself and shooting back what I hoped was a look of defiance.  Just because he was ready to go didn't mean I was.

There was a long showdown of silence and nasty looks until finally he shook his head, obviously exasperated with me.  "What do you want?"

Victory.  I knew it wouldn't last long so I looked around quickly, trying to prioritize.  My eyes went back to the top shelf without thinking about it.

"What else is up there?"

"All the smut a teenage boy could dream of."

"Is it all like this?"

"No - there's some much harder stuff than that."  He nodded toward the book in my hands.  "I liked that one though."

Before I even thought about it, my mouth took off without my brain to back it up.  "Can I take it home?"  A suggestive little grin slowly broke across his face and he seemed to be thinking about it as I felt my cheeks pinking up with embarrassment - but rather than let it cow me into humiliation, I decided to own it.  I was a grown ass woman, I had needs just like everybody else whether I felt like I could physically act on them or not.  I gave him a coy little sideways look while allowing myself to stroke the book suggestively.  "I could...you know...use something to read while you're in the barn."

His eyebrows went up a bit in surprise, but just as quickly the smarmy grin came back to chase off the mildly shocked look on his face.

"Only if you call me and read it to me before you go to sleep every night."

That wasn't the response I'd hoped for.  I'd wanted him to say he would be sleeping in the house now and we could just read it together, but leave it to King to be difficult.  For the briefest of moments I thought about turning around and putting the book down on the table and walking out, but then I remembered - he and I weren't adversaries anymore.  His taunting and smugness didn't have to be answered with defiance and a refusal to be toyed with.  He'd done everything in his power to make sure I knew he wanted me around - to the extreme end of building me a house so I wouldn't have to leave ever again.

His eyes were laughing at me over the top of Pod's head, and suddenly there was nothing in me anywhere that wanted to tell him to screw himself.  If he wanted me to read him Victorian erotica over the phone until he was ready to join me in the house, I would be happy to.

"I can do that," I said, hugging the book to my stomach.

 

We were on our way out of the library when I realized King hadn't shown any interest in anything in the house; that struck me as strange, since he'd spent some of his childhood here and everything in the place was his by default.  Surely something had value to him?  I had to know, because we were obviously leaving and I didn't know if he would ever bring me here again.

"What's your favorite thing in this house, King?"

He didn't hesitate, just jerked his head toward a narrow table that was edged up against the far corridor wall.  "Dèanamh Rìgh."

"What's that?"  I walked over to it and stopped, staring down at what was laying on the table.

"The Kingmaker."

This was both what I'd expected and way beyond anything I could have dreamed of.

It was a gigantic broadsword, rusty and nicked and very obviously having seen a lot of battles in its day.  Above it was a painting of what I assumed was the very first Thomas McClary, holding it high above his head.

"Are you kidding me?"  I wanted to touch it but wasn't sure if I should - the battered old thing was obviously the real deal, a six hundred year old sword that had been passed down from king to king until now here it was, collecting dust in a hallway in the abandoned royal estate.  "I _knew_ you were a highlander.  This thing has fought the Kurgan, hasn't it?!  I knew it!"

King came over beside me and reached his hand out, ignoring my silliness as he touched the sword's hilt almost reverently.  The weapon was so big that all anyone would have had to do was swing it at their enemy and the wind would have knocked them down.

"I used to play with it," he said quietly.  "Grandda taught me to wield it."  He suddenly picked it up, holding it upright in one hand with no effort at all.  "See the big knick in the blade?  There's a corner of the house in back that matches it."

"You went around swinging it at the house?"

"No, I went around swinging it at Grandda."

I stared at him, trying to picture him as a child waving this ridiculously huge heavy thing at his grandfather's head.  "Why am I not surprised?"

"Old Ceàrd Dubh laid claim to everything between here and Claighe with this blade."  He nodded toward the painting.  "It felled a few Auchinlecks in its day."

That last bit seemed to give him some sort of perverse pleasure and I wondered again if our dinner date was such a great idea.  _He's not taking the sword._   But I still didn't want to give him any opportunity to back out of the visit, so instead of mentioning it I went for something a little more benign.

"Why this?  Surely there's something here more sentimental to you...something that was yours personally."  I was really hoping he would offer to show me his room or some place that he'd played, maybe his secret spot for reading pilfered books - but he wasn't taking the bait and I couldn't have hinted any harder.  He tapped the tip of the blade on the stone floor, then kicked it upward with his boot and laid it back on the table.  He didn't seem like he intended to give me an answer so I asked again.  "Why is this your favorite thing, out of all the treasures here?"

He hefted Pod up on his shoulder and turned to head back to the front of the house.

"Because it's cool."

 

 

I kept as quiet as I could on the drive to his relatives' place.  A couple of times I thought I caught him muttering something quietly to himself, but I couldn't understand a word of it and pretended like I didn't hear anything.  Maybe he was preparing himself for what was coming...if he needed to self soothe before we got there I wasn't about to interrupt him, and every time I heard him doing it I made a point of finding something intensely interesting to stare at out the side window.

Preserving King's dignity was far more important to me than understanding what he was doing.  I still wasn't one hundred percent sure why he'd agreed to do this - for me? for the relatives? - but whatever it was I knew it could go south very quickly, very easily.  I would do whatever I could to help him if it came to that.

He was chewing his lip as we turned down a dirt road and stopped so he could open a gate.  When he got back in the car I reached over and laid my hand over his on the steering wheel.

"Can I kiss you?"

He looked at me funny, but it only took him a second to give me a little nod.

And so I leaned across the space between us and pressed my lips quickly to the corner of his mouth, and even with as stressed as I knew he must be, I felt the pressure of him returning the kiss.

Our first casual smooch.

It felt important, and it felt good, but more than anything it felt _right._

 

 

It took us nearly a half hour to arrive at the relatives' place - a sprawling farm with a big house that had quite a spread but didn't give any hint of wealth, other than the enormous amount of land that obviously belonged to it.  There was livestock roaming around everywhere and when we pulled up and stopped, something that looked like a ridiculously furry llama came trotting over to my side of the car and stared in the window at me.  King told me not to make eye contact with it and got out, leaving me yelling after him to come help me.  He eventually shooed it away with a smack on its hindquarters and Pod and I got out of the car, following his long quick strides to the front porch so as not to be left behind with what appeared to be an entire herd of the llama things, now aware of our presence and curiously heading toward us.  I bumped into his back and he said something in Gaelic that didn't sound very complimentary. 

He was obviously hesitant about going inside - I knew he didn't like being indoors, even at his own cabin, but this was worse than his usual reticence at crossing a formal threshold.  There was a look of real, undeniable fear behind his eyes, and I immediately knew this hadn't been such a great idea after all.

"We can go," I whispered to him, feeling him tense up when I gripped his arm.  "If you can't do this, we don't have to."

He stared at the doorknob while I stared nervously at the llama things that were now coming up onto the porch with us - then he shook his head and muttered "They're expecting us."

"Yeah, but - "

"No."

And without another word, he reached out and grabbed the doorknob.

 

The door flew open before he'd even turned it and we were greeted by a very old wide-faced woman wearing the biggest smile I've ever seen on a human being.  If loud had a facial expression, this was it.  She squealed and threw her arms up and King, to my utter shock, walked right into them.

"Ta Gran," he said quietly, just loud enough for me to hear.  His grandmother.  Holy shit.  She clapped him on the back much harder than I would have expected from someone her age and then shoved him out of the way, throwing her arms up again in my direction.

"So this is ta'banrigh."

I couldn't tell if it was a question or a proclamation, so I just nodded sort of meekly and stepped toward her; I turned Pod to face her to try to avoid the bone crushing hug that I felt pretty sure was coming and was rewarded with an embrace that squished the baby between us hard enough to make him yelp.

"She's no' ta banrigh!" someone yelled from across the room where several men roughly King's age were sitting around a huge table.  A few of them were smoking and my hand went instinctively to cover Pod's face before the old woman started yelling at them to put them out or go outside with the rest of the animals.  They groused bitterly but immediately did as they were told.

"Don't mind them, sweetie," she said to me as she started aggressively tugging my coat off, forcing me to shift Pod from one arm to the other to slip out of it.  "I'm afraid the men in this family have never recognized ta'McClary rulership, it's a bit of a sore subject in this house."

"I gathered that from Aedna at the bakery."  The old woman rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Are the MacAlisters still between the McClarys and Auchinlecks?"

For a second I didn't know what she was talking about, then I remembered the tapestries of the family crests - McClary was first, then MacAlister, then Auchinleck.  I nodded as she took Pod out of my arms, bouncing him happily as she made a rude snorting sound that strongly indicated she was no part of the family bullshit.  "These stupid buggers would rather be third in the clan lineages than have their crest hangin' next to the McClarys.  Dumb shites."

And then as I watched King sit down at the table with the other young men like he belonged there, a familiar voice came booming obnoxiously from what I assumed was the kitchen after a door slammed loudly.  I cringed...Uncle was home.

"I suppose ta'fancy car oot front belongs ta'the glakit hoore?  Thomas McClary the twenty-third graces our home wit' his royal arse at last!"  He burst into the room, all silver beard and long crazy hair and eyes that looked like he was about two seconds away from a complete overload.  Of what, I had no idea - I'd never met anyone like him in my life and I didn't know if I should be scared of him or just roll my eyes at his blustery loudness.

But before I could figure out which it was, one of the cousins had gotten up and was insisting that I sit at the table with the rest of them.

"Ta' other women'll be here shortly, have a whiskey wit'us b'fore they get here."

I shook my head, refusing his offer of the bottle they'd all been passing around.  I didn't feel like telling him I was only refusing his hospitality because I didn't want my child passing out drunk the next time I fed him.  In reality I wanted a drink badly, but King reached over and took the bottle from his cousin's hand before I even had to say anything.

_"Slàinte don Bhànrigh."_

The room fell silent as he tipped the bottle up.  I wasn't sure, but I thought the rough translation of what he'd said was something like _to the queen's health -_ and before I could cringe at the blatant challenge, Uncle slammed a fist down in the middle of the table.

"You kin drink to yer woman, you kin drink to yer mistress, hellfire you kin drink ta'the last wet dream ye had _but there's no queen here!"_

I knew things were about to turn nasty, and loud - loud _er_ \- and possibly even violent.  King's face went dark but he didn't say anything, just sat there slouched in his chair, one hand up on the table slowly turning the bottle around and around.  Everyone was looking at him while Uncle continued ranting in mostly Gaelic, none of which I could understand well enough to make any assumption about why he was so worked up.

But I figured it had something to do with the fact that King was the king.

And then the grandmother came up behind me and laid her hand on my shoulder, leaning over to put Pod back in my arms before snatching her towel off the strap of her apron and slapping it down on the table with a loud pop.  These people seemed to have as big of a love of slamming things as the people of Claighe had of whistling and spitting.

The room went quiet.

"How many daughters have you got, Thomas?"

King didn't look up, and he didn't answer.  Uncle took the opportunity to start squawking again.  "Stupid whore, spreadin' ta'McClary seed everywhere he could spew it - "

"Hush up you," grandmother snapped.  "You know there's only been little girl McClarys since his birth up till now.  And now we have this."  She reached down and patted Pod's head.  "You know what ta' book says."

"Ohh she'll be spoutin' prophecy now."

"Shut it!  You know what it says, Clifton Auchinleck."

Everyone fell silent and I noticed King's eyes were on Pod, completely blank and distant, like he was somewhere else and his body was just holding his place until he got back.  His grandmother went and stood behind him, and once he acknowledged her presence by looking up at her, she leaned over and kissed the top of his head before giving him a squeeze around the neck.

"Only the true and destined queen can give a McClary a son."

 

_To be continued..._

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

 

 

_**Na seall do fhiaclan a-riamh mura h-urrainn dhut bìdeadh** _

_**Never show your teeth unless you can bite**_  

 

 

In all truth, dinner with the Auchinlecks wasn't near as bad as it could have been.  King was quiet, which was to be expected, and nobody really tried too hard to get a rise out of him except the Uncle - but the grandmother smacked him in the back of the head several times and he would stop immediately, muttering and grousing but still obeying, while I tried to hide my laughter behind my hand but kept getting caught.  They seemed to be a very female-dominated family and once the wives and other women arrived the whole thing settled into a very boisterous, very chatty, very food-oriented affair.  And when everyone had eaten so much that every chair had to be pushed back from the table to make room for stuffed bellies, the men finally got up and wandered into the adjoining sitting room while myself and the other wives and aunts cleared the dishes.

 _Wives._ It was such a strange word now that I thought about it.  I wasn't a wife, but they acted like I was.  I'd arrived with King with his baby in my arms and nobody seemed to be batting an eye at us being together, in whatever capacity that happened to be.  And nobody asked.  I caught myself absently touching my finger where Ian's engagement ring had once sat.   I also caught myself looking over to check on King more often than I checked on my own child;  I knew Pod was safe, but I honestly couldn't assure myself of the same for his father and his mental state was worrying me deeply.  I knew he could only fake it for so long before he lost control of his tenuously attuned nerves and that when that happened, things would turn very ugly, very fast.

He seemed okay though, and I just hoped he would give me some kind of a sign before he got to that point.  I was willing to fake a very bad case of cramps to get us out of there and I would have happily described them in gruesome detail to make it believable if I had to.

Looking back now, I know I should have had a little more faith in the king of Claighe.  Because even though he was a quiet introvert among rampaging extroverts, he was also Thomas Alastair James McClary, CEO of Monarch Industries, twenty-third to wear the crown ring according to Uncle's proclamation, and the man who had broken Ian Summer's nose in the mens room at Clendon Williams during an executive meeting in which he'd sent eleven board members home in tears.

And he was the man who had taught me to shut up and listen to the peaceful quiet that lies just beyond the edge of the world's chaos.

Yeah, he was gonna be just fine.  But I wasn't so sure about myself.

 

 

When the men migrated into the other room, Pod went along in the arms of one of King's cousins and I just bit my lip and let him go.  I wasn't used to him being passed around so much, but despite their noisiness and aggressive personalities I could tell these people were alright.  Their hostility toward King was oddly softened by a halfhearted bullying sort of fondness that took the edge off their taunts and teasings, and King, for the most part, just appeared to be taking it in stride.

He was obviously used to this.

And they were used to him ignoring them, apparently.  I wasn't crazy about the way the Uncle kept calling him a stupid whore, but again, King seemed accustomed to it and didn't react, so I kept my mouth shut.  In fact, his reactions - mostly _non_ reactions - were interesting in that he just sort of seemed to be existing somewhere else, eating his dinner quietly, having drinks with the men after, speaking softly whenever something required a response from him...almost like he was combating their rude loudness with a polite quiet that somehow negated it.  When he spoke they all fell silent for a moment to hear him and it was like listening to him talk from somewhere far away, his voice faint and dimmed by the distance - and then like the flipping of a switch, the noise turned back on and his words were lost, immediately forgotten as a dozen other voices rushed in to fill the void.

He honestly didn't seem to care.  His responses were short and to the point and then he would go back to quietly sipping his whiskey, just biding his time for one of two things to happen...either we would leave, or someone would break open another bottle.  It was evident that at some point during the evening he would stop caring which one it was going to be.

As one of the cousins poured him another glass a memory came rushing back to me, a melancholy recollection of him sitting alone in the sports bar when he had come to visit me, already finishing his fourth mug by the time I got there.  He'd been bleary eyed but content as he stared at the hockey game on the television, just waiting for it all to be over with.  I knew then why he drank.  And even though it made me feel sad, I was thankful that at least it was an _effective_ coping method - maybe not a healthy one, but it helped, and a little help was what he needed.  Perhaps it would get us through the evening without any dustups and maybe - just maybe, if I was lucky - he wouldn't be full blown drunk off his skull before we left.  Because no matter how good I was at navigating the city, there was no way I could get us all the way back home through the country without a sober set of directions...and there was no way in _hell_ we were spending the night here.

 

In the end I suppose what surprised me the most about King's interactions with his family was that he didn't retaliate to being called names - and he didn't show any sort of emotional upset to being harassed and manhandled by the Uncle and a couple of the bigger cousins, even when two of them grabbed him in what looked like an attempt to take him down in a roughhousing headlock that I assumed was just how they showed affection.  But the forceful physical contact seemed to bring him back from wherever he'd been hiding and he was suddenly here, very much present and accounted for.  He tossed one of the men off easily while the bigger of the two stepped back and issued a verbal challenge, taking a swing at King's head with a big fist that he ducked with a surprising agility in light of how much he'd already drank.

And then all bets were off.  The quiet acceptance of his fate was gone in one slow shake of his head, and the whole game changed.

There was no mistaking the look in his eyes.  He was no longer in his quiet place - he was _here,_  solidly in the big middle of the noise and the mayhem and ready to interact on their level.  A few cackles of delight from the women mixed in with more than a couple of _oh shit_ groans from the men, and then the big cousin kicked a chair out of the way as King's eyes locked onto him with that unnervingly predatory stare I was so familiar with.

"Fists up yer majesty!"

"Eh, fuck yer sister some more, your kids ain't ugly enough yet."

They were standing in the middle of the sitting room but nobody, not even the grandmother, said a word about them taking it outside.  And while I stood there with my mouth open watching them circle each other and insult one another's parentage for a full minute and a half before they even got close to each other, it became obvious that not only did nobody care if they wrecked the house, somebody was going to go home with their pockets full of the money that was being passed around.  A surprising number of them seemed to be betting on King.

This had obviously happened before.

The names they were calling each other ranged from shocking and embarrassing to outright ridiculous and King was more than keeping up his side of the verbal battle.  The extent of his trove of nasty curses was impressive and even though I was cringing at how freely the words _cunt_ and _pussy_ were being thrown around, I couldn't help myself laughing at the authoritative way he hurled his retorts.

He was definitely the king, no matter how adamantly these people insisted otherwise.

And then he lowered his head and raised his fists, giving his cousin an unmistakable _bring it_ signal with a dark and more than slightly wicked grin across his face - and when the first blow struck home, it was unsurprisingly King who threw it.

 

In the end I couldn't tell who was winning the tussle, but the cousin was significantly the bigger of the two and there was a lot of cheering and hooting as he and King rolled around on the floor.  The difference in their sizes seemed a bit unfair but the other man's bulk didn't keep him from being pinned after a raucous battle that finally ended with King getting to his feet and offering a hand to help him up.  When the cousin begrudgingly reached up to take it, King yanked his hand away and turned to walk off with one last muttered epithet that seemed to imply a romantic relationship between the cousin and something called a vole.

The women all burst into laughter and loud whistling while the men groaned in a begrudging dismay at their champion apparently being bested, both physically and verbally.  I felt like I should be cheering too, so I did, even though the whole thing seemed a bit stupid.  But it was a welcome outlet to the stress of the evening, watching King finally break loose and have a little bit of fun.  I could tell he would rather be literally anywhere else, but for the moment he had to be here and he was holding his own, making the best of the situation until he could get out of it.  The rest - the yelling and the constant flow of people jumping around and breaking into rowdy songs without warning - he just quietly dealt with, locked away inside his own head where none of it could soak in.

I wondered if this was how he'd coped with family visits during his childhood, hiding away in that safe bubble of quiet and only coming out with his fists up when he was forced to.  But one thing was obvious to me now - his filthy mouth and rough nature had definitely been conditioned into him.  A quiet little boy had learned aggressive behavior simply to survive the people he couldn't get away from.  And while it had undoubtedly made him tough enough to deal with the world in general, it made me sad that his sensitive soul had had no choice but to harden into an impenetrable shell of standoffish hostility.

I didn't know if I should be grateful to these people for making him strong...or thank his grandmother for the dinner and her hospitality, take my son and his daddy, and never come back to this house again.  It had been my decision to come here, King had simply accommodated my wishes.

I felt bad about that.

But I was learning more by watching him interact than I ever could by just asking him questions, and that eased my guilt enough to convince me to let him decide when we would leave.

 

I'd been staying with the women for the most part; it was a very segregated sort of social arrangement, with the females moving into the kitchen as soon as supper was finished to talk about the men and the men grouping together around the table to tell bullshit stories and laugh drunkenly as they rapidly drained a bottle - and to be honest I had no idea what I should be doing.  King was fine, obviously.  He didn't need me next to him, he'd been coping with these people his entire life and I knew now that there was nothing I could do to help him deal with it any better than he already was.

He didn't need me.

That was a little bit of a wakeup call for me.  I'd assumed I would have to calm him, keep him settled, maybe stand up and defend him a time or two.  But there he sat, drinking whisky with what looked like a gang of stunt extras from Braveheart, occasionally saying something in slightly slurred Gaelic in response to the spirited storytelling that was going on and adding his own terse narrative when it fell to him to fill in part of a tale.  I was listening more to them than to the conversations going on among the women, paying attention just enough to answer questions that were asked of me and responding like I wasn't eavesdropping on the boys.  I felt like I got away with it, for the most part, until Gran - her name was too hard for me to pronounce without embarrassing myself, so she gave me permission to call her what King called her - saw me watching him and eventually handed me a framed photo that she'd brought out from one of the other rooms.  It was a snapshot of a little black haired boy holding onto a blonde woman's neck, lovingly framed in gilded brass.

"He were always a good boy," she said fondly while she bounced Pod on her hip.  He'd made his way through the arms and laps of just about everyone in the house and was finally back near me, which calmed my nerves a bit.  "He loved his mum so much.  He were a cuddly little thing when it came to her but he didn't really want anyone else to touch him.  When she passed it were a long time I think before he felt another soul's hand on him."

I nodded, staring at the picture.  Christa, in her early twenties, holding a very young King.  Neither of them were smiling for the camera; in fact, neither of them seemed aware that anyone was even taking their picture.  She had the same sort of serene, otherworldly look on her face that I'd seen so often on King when he wasn't being disturbed.

They were in their own little world, but they were obviously in it together.

"How did she die?"

"Eh, sort of a mystery, that.  Took sick one Autumn and never got well.  A broken soul took away her will to recover if you ask me."

"Why?  What happened?"

"Little blighter weren't right, his Da wanted to send him away to one of those special schools in Edinburgh that look after mentally ill children.  They fought over that somethin' bitter...Christa swore she'd take the boy and leave if he tried to separate them."  She sighed, giving Pod a kiss on his nose.  "He made her choose between him and her boy and I think it broke her."

I didn't know what to say.  I had so little of the story and the bits I had were from all different sides - but one thing was consistent from all fronts, and that was that Christa loved her son more than anything.  She'd obviously tried so hard.  A lump came up in my throat at the thought of how she must have felt when she started to think she'd failed and that King would be taken away from her.

And it cast a little light on why his father drank as well.

"Is that why your family doesn't like his dad?"

She laughed, making faces at the baby; he was starting to fuss and I knew he was getting hungry and tired.  "No, he were hated around here long b'fore the bairn were born.  Always sneakin' up here to see Christa, runnin' all over the countryside draggin' her along with him.  She were on her way to uni in Edinburgh to be a teacher when she got tangled up with that boy and suddenly she were more interested in him than in learnin'.  My mister's shotgun wouldn't even keep him away."

"That can't be what the feud is about - "

"Oh heavens no, the Auchinlecks and the McClarys have been at each other's throats for centuries.  The first Thomas were a fuckin' thief, he decided he were gonna be king and nobody stood against him except one o'our kin."

I stared at her, shocked to hear a woman in her eighties use that word.  But I'd just listened to one of King's cousins call somebody a reheated bowl of vaginal discharge, so my willingness to accept crudity was starting to approach a state of complacency where nothing made me cringe anymore.

"So it's just a dispute over who should be king?"

"Of sorts, I suppose.  There were never a challenge, the Auchinlecks weren't after the crown - they just didn't like McClary because he were a fright of a lunatic.  There were a lot of skullduggery and shite that went on between ta'two clans, horse thievin' and village burnin' and _wife_ stealin', it were more like an episode o' Benny Hill than a clan dynasty.  After a couple generations of that nonsense some rules were finally nailed up on the town hall door.  First and foremost was that we didn't acknowledge the kingship and would never bend a knee to a McClary for as long as an Auchinleck drew breath this side of heaven.  Second was no marryin' a McClary because dear god above they were an insane bunch, straight down the line."

Well, it made sense, mostly.  But not so much sense that a man who was half Auchinleck should be tormented his entire life because his dad's side of the family were a bunch of horny idiots waving big swords and kidnapping women.  "And six hundred years later Christa Auchinleck ran off and married Thomas McClary and now their son is a king that her family doesn't acknowledge."

"That's about the size and shape of it."

I looked over toward the other room where the men were singing a rude tavern song about a big breasted woman named Maggie; King was slowly drinking his whiskey, his eyes coming to me over the top of his glass.  There was something in his look that made me feel warm and shivery and I squirmed on my chair a little.  I saw him stretch his legs out under the table and wondered what he was thinking, locked away there inside his head with all these voices rattling around him.

Was he thinking about me?

Or did I just happen to be in his line of vision?

And then he winked at me, and I knew then that my feelings of not being needed were completely unfounded.  He _did_ need me.  I was his happy place, that little bubble of quiet that he retreated to when the world around him was too much.

He was in there with me, right that moment, sipping his whiskey and filtering everything else out, being happy while noisy mayhem clattered on around him.  His hand was halfway inside the front of his shirt and I realized suddenly that he wasn't stroking his own skin to soothe himself.

He was touching the dandelion pendant.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King by @vivianstark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles - please don't post anywhere without permission from the author, a credit to the artist, and a link back to this fic*


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

_**Breathnaíonn amanna ar an amárach; Úsáideann fir ciallmhar anocht** _

_**Fools look to tomorrow; wise men use tonight** _

 

 

On our way out Uncle suddenly stood up from the table and cleared his throat.  He had remained sitting when everyone else got up to walk us out, but now he was strolling toward where we stood putting our coats on by the door and King tensed up like he knew something was coming.  I got the distinct feeling we hadn't gotten out quite soon enough and when his booming voice rose over the noise of the farewells and commands to drive home safely, it became quickly obvious that my feeling was correct.

"So are ye ready to give it back yet,  _yer highness?"_

King didn't say anything, just tugged his coat on and helped me bundle Pod into his snowsuit.  But Uncle wasn't about to let him go without an answer and stopped a few feet away from us, hands on his hips and glaring a hole through King's head.  "It belongs here and you know it, boy."

The chattery din was replaced with silence and everyone stared at King; those that didn't stared at the floor like they didn't want any part of this fight but knew they were expected to stand in solidarity with the Uncle on it, whatever it was.  I looked from person to person and finally back to King and noticed that the facade of calm that he'd worn all night was quickly falling into something else entirely.  His jaw was clenched and his eyes, those soft kind eyes, had narrowed to a hard, cold squint that I'd only seen twice before.

The first time had been when I'd told him that there was nothing I liked about him, so long ago when we'd rubbed each other's faces into the chalk line drawn so uncertainly between love and hate.  The second time was right before he tackled Dave MacDale to the floor and slammed his head into the wooden slats for insulting me.

_Please don't start a real fight...we made it through the whole night without bloodshed, please...lets just go..._

"No."

That was all he said.   _No._  And that was the end of it.  Gran stepped up and hugged me and Pod, then touched King's cheek briefly before sort of dipping her head to him - it was almost like a very discreet bow, hidden from the view of the others because she was standing in front of him.  She was tugging at our arms, urging us wordlessly to go before anyone had a chance to stop us.

I knew then that I liked Gran.

 

The drive home was long and mostly silent, until Pod started to cry and I stopped the car so I could walk around with him till he fell asleep.  I was driving because King had been drinking all night, though he didn't seem the least bit inebriated - just quiet and relaxed and oddly cooperative.  He hadn't even argued with me when I took the keys from his hand on our way out the door.  And as I walked Pod around in the chilly night air to settle him, my head was spinning with questions...but none of them quite as burning as the last one that had been added to the list.

_Are ye ready to give it back yet?_

I didn't know what _it_  was, but the chillingly quiet rage that had risen up so quickly in him was unsettling.  It was obviously something important to him and his uncle both, and he had it.

But what the hell was it?

I'd seen everything King owned, or at least everything he had in his cabin, and there was literally nothing there that anyone could possibly have any interest in.  As far as what was at the estate, I had no clue - but I doubted he would keep anything there that was important enough to him to cause a family war.  But I wasn't about to ask him, because that stone cold look in his eyes hadn't warmed up yet and the last thing I wanted was to set him off after he'd done so well at keeping himself under control while being punched, prodded, harassed, and yelled at all evening.

I was proud of him.

And that little wink he'd given me was still making me feel all warm and funny inside.

"Are they always like that?" I finally asked when I'd gotten back in the car, laying my hand as obviously as I could on my knee in the hopes that he would take it.  The long silence that followed pretty much shot it down though, and I was about to turn on the radio for some companionship when he suddenly reached across and laid his hand on top of mine.

"Aye," he said quietly.  "Always." 

 

 

When we pulled up in front of the house - _my_ house, I still was having a difficult time processing that little fact - I asked King if he would get the baby out of his seat for me while I ran to the bathroom.  I'd been holding it all night to keep from having to take a potentially humiliating trek through the cold dark of night to an outhouse across a field full of weird llama things while the cousins catcalled and shouted rude noises at me, and now, after the too long and too bumpy ride home, it was getting perilously close to being too late.

King gave me that _you stupid woman_ look that I was so used to seeing and reached over to push on my stomach while I squealed and slapped at his hand.  "Stop it!  I'm not kidding, after that third cider thing, whatever the hell that was, I didn't think I was going to last much longer."

He shook his head and gave me a jab in the ribs with a finger.  There was a hint of a genuinely amused smirk on his lips that rubbed me wrong, but in more of a _god he's hot when he smirks_ kind of way than an irritated _why is this jackass smirking at me_ way.

It was a huge indicator of just how far we'd come.  And it made me fidget in my seat just a little.

"Mol, not everyone is an uncultured swine like me.  They have a loo."

"In the house?"

He nodded.

"Oh...well I didn't know that, did I?"

He got out of the car without answering and got Pod out of his seat while I watched him, my overtaxed bladder sort of drifting to the back of my list of worries for a moment to make room for the undeniably virile image of this big strong man, so gruff and terse and looking like he was always prepped and ready to punch someone in the face, carefully lifting a tiny baby and tucking him inside his coat.  It was a shot to the southern region and for the second time that night I felt that odd little quivery warmth in the pit of my stomach.

I was really hoping he would stay with us in the house.  He didn't even have to sleep with me in the bed if he didn't want to - I knew I wasn't up to resumption of intimacies yet, but I wasn't against a little bit of what we'd done the night before.  It had been hot and electric and I was still feeling flushed every time I looked at him, remembering his mouth on me, the way he'd touched and handled me...

I was definitely up for more of that.

And when I came around to the other side of the car to shut the door behind him, some brave little perverted part of me thought it would be a fun option to slide my hand across his backside.  I suppose it seemed innocent enough; he was turning to head toward the house and I was next to him shutting the door, and didn't really even think that much about it until I'd done it.  There was no reaction from him at all though and I couldn't tell if his thick leather kilt had kept him from even feeling it or if he was just too mentally finished with this day to acknowledge yet another invasion of his personal space.

I felt a little sting of regret when I thought it might be the latter.  But he didn't give any indication either way, so I covered by reaching up to pull Pod's hood over his head and didn't say anything.

 

King walked us into the house and stayed just long enough to press his lips briefly to Pod's head as he handed him to me, then left with a muttered "Goodnight Mol".

I stood where I was, watching him go.  For a brief moment I felt a cold stab of rejection until I remembered that he didn't know what was going on in my head, that I wanted more than anything for him to bunk with us or at least kiss me goodnight...he couldn't see any of that, and I knew why he'd turned suddenly distant, putting emotional space between himself and me.  And I wasn't mad about it or hurt by it once I thought about it, because I understood it.

King thought in simple, direct terms - and he knew I would turn him down if he came onto me, like I had the night before.  True, we'd found an alternate route to pleasure, but I knew it hadn't been completely satisfying for him and in the end he would be frustrated and annoyed by the whole situation.

I would be too, to be honest.  Because even though we had both reached an intense release as a result of our heavy petting, it wasn't what we really wanted.  What we really wanted was to be  _together,_  as together as we could be, and without a physical joining of our bodies there was always that space between us.

He was a primal being, for the most part.  Playing around didn't suit him.  Adding that to the mental and emotional stress of spending hours with probably the last people on earth that he wanted to be near, there was absolutely no way I could take this personal.

But I got the feeling as he left that I would be hearing from him again before the night was up, because when he put Pod into my arms, he had dropped something onto the coffee table with a heavy thud.

The book I'd taken from the McClary library.

And of course there was that little wink he'd gifted me over the top of his whiskey glass, the one that told me that in the midst of all that annoyance and mayhem, he still wanted me.

 

I was laying in bed with Pod beside me, feeding him his bedtime tummy filler and obsessing over whether I'd done the fireplace correctly when I heard King's jeep leaving.  A sharp jolt of disappointment slammed through my gut when I realized he wasn't even going to sleep in the barn tonight - and that admittedly hurt my feelings a tiny bit, but I told myself he just needed the comfort and solace of his own house, his own bed, his own books and the familiar sounds that you could only hear on the mountain.  He'd been in the city all day and he needed his own life back, to settle his nerves and restore the equilibrium of peace and quiet in his head.  I could only imagine how stressed he was and now that I thought about it, his hands had been shaking when he handed Pod to me before he left.

He was barely holding it together.  Spending another minute with someone other than his dog was probably a potent recipe for disaster and rather than risk being awful to me, he took his exit abruptly and without ceremony.  He'd kissed Pod and told me goodnight.  It was the best he could do.

I could live with that.  It was just my second day in Scotland, there was plenty of time for us to figure out what was going to work for us.  Time for him to get used to being around me, to spending time with me without being overwhelmed by it.  Time for us to sort out how to be with each other, if that was what he wanted.

I could be patient.

 

Pod had already dozed off so I very gingerly moved him from my bed to his own, smiling at the way he smacked his lips in his sleep and sighed so big and dramatic when I laid him down.  He was a good baby...I was lucky, but even more so King was lucky, because even though he could scream and throw tantrums with the best of them, for the most part he was content and easygoing.  So long as nothing irritated him and he was fed often, he could be quiet for hours.

Just like his father.

That made me laugh a little and I climbed back into the big, ridiculously comfortable bed King had gotten me, snuggling down under the thick white quilt with the dusty old book of Victorian erotica tucked up under my pillow.  I doubted now that he would call me since he'd left to go back to his own place...but god help me I was going to be prepared for the possibility that he might.

I think I started to doze the second my head hit the pillow, all comfy and warm and feeling soothed by the crackling of the little fire I'd made.  And then, when I was in that half-here half-gone place that you slip into right before you fall completely asleep, I heard a car pulling up outside.  But not just any car - the engine was rattly and loud, it was obviously missing a muffler, and the brakes squealed loud enough to make Pod fidget in his sleep.

_King was back._

Apparently I'd been asleep far longer than I thought.  The fire was almost out and I got up to rekindle it, listening for sounds from outside; a few seconds passed before I heard the barn door open and he whistled for Mol the pup to go inside;  it was several more seconds before I realized I was holding my breath, waiting to see if the next sound I heard would be silence or the back door to the house opening.

I was really hoping it would be the latter.

But it wasn't, and the next thing I did actually hear was my cellphone chiming to tell me I had a text.

It was an invitation to video chat.

I don't think I've ever hit accept so fast in my life.

 

 

"Hey your majesty."

I cringed, not knowing why I'd said that - it had been on my mind ever since I'd heard one of the cousins say it and it sounded so stupid and inappropriate now coming from me.  "Did you go feed the sheep?"  _What the hell is wrong with you??_   I knew sheep didn't get fed like dogs, they grazed all day.  _God._

He stared at me, not answering.

_He's going to hang up.  He's just realized what an idiot I am and he's just going to go to sleep and then tomorrow he's going to evict me and turn this house into a luxury barn for the deranged marshmallows._

But just when I was sure he was about to say goodnight again, he put his phone down on the bedside table and stretched out on the bed.

"You got that book?"

"Um...yeah, yeah I do."  I could feel it under the pillow and the musty smell of the old binding made me crinkle my nose a little as I pulled it out.  "It's right here."

"Read me the inscription."

I opened the front cover; scribbled inside was a dedication to someone named Aibreann, in a sharp, tightly lettered script.  I groaned inwardly when I realized it was in Gaelic.

"It says  _Mo shùil-starra, mo aingeal, mo ghaol. Bidh seo a-riamh gad chuimhneachadh_."

I knew I'd butchered most of the words but he didn't correct me, he just lay there on the little bed in the half light of the lantern hanging above him with his eyes closed.  At the bottom of the Gaelic was a signature.  _Thomas._   His dad?

"My starlight, my angel, my love.  This shall ever remind me of you."

I think I must have had about the dumbest look imaginable on my face when I realized he'd just translated the inscription.  I was about to ask if his father had written it to his mother when he turned over and looked at me.  "My grandda were a romantic old bugger."

And then, just like that, he reached out and picked up the phone.

"Goodnight Mol."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

 

**_Guidheam air lochdan beaga - ma tha thu fhèin math_ **

**_Wink at small faults - for your own are great_**  

 

 

I was still laying there trying to figure out what the hell had just happened when I heard the barn door slam shut.  And before I'd even thought about what I was doing, I was on the back porch in my pajamas watching King head off into the trees on the other side of the creek.

It was turning out to be a big night for not thinking things through, because it took me all of about eleven seconds to decide to follow him. 

It made me nervous, the thought of leaving Pod in the house alone.  He would be fine - it wasn't like he could get out of his crib, and the only creepy neighbor we had had just walked off into the woods.  But despite my common sense telling me the chance of anything happening to him was ridiculously nonexistent, I still hesitated there in the doorway.

Until I heard the dog whining from the barn.

_Time to see if that mutt is worth the fifty bucks I paid for it._

 

"Okay Mol," I told her, pointing to the baby.  It felt weird to say my own name and see the dog perk up at it.  She had followed me into the house without any coercion and was sitting by the crib staring at me like she was just waiting for her orders.  "This is little King, and I want you to stay right here with him, do you understand?"

She looked at me with her head cocked to one side, just like King always did.

"I mean it.  You stay right here, you don't leave.  Unless something happens, then you come find me, okay?  I don't know where I'm gonna be but I'm sure you know this place well enough to locate me."  We stared at each other for a minute, then her tongue flopped out of her mouth and she planted her front feet on the rails of the crib, shoving her nose in between them to sniff at Pod's foot.  When she looked at me again she seemed to be confirming that she understood her orders.

King trusted her, and I knew she could no doubt smell him on the baby and understood that he was somehow linked to her master.  That was good enough for me.

I grabbed my coat and shut the door quietly behind me, sticking my head back in just once to point commandingly at the baby and reinforce that she was not to leave him under any circumstances.  And then with a deep breath and a quietly muttered _He's fine, he's fine,_ I pulled my coat on over my pajamas and stepped out into the cold night air in my squeaky red rain boots.  I really didn't have any idea where I was going, but he'd headed straight up the bluff behind the house and I knew there wasn't really far he could go before it got too steep.  Not even King would go rock climbing in the middle of the night.

That was my assumption, anyway.

I wasn't about to scale any boulders to find the goofy man...but as I set off in the direction I'd seen him go, the damp little needy feeling that had settled in the crotch of my pajamas the moment he'd turned his camera on made one thing very clear.

I wasn't really all  _that_ averse to climbing.

 

It was cold as hell and the ground was crunchy with a thin sheet of ice from the drizzly rain we'd gotten earlier.  I certainly wasn't going to be sneaking up on anyone - it wasn't my intention anyway, but it still made me laugh a little when I realized how quiet the night was and how loud the  _crunch crunch crunch_  sounded from under my boots.  King had exceptionally good hearing, he'd probably known I was coming from the moment I stepped out of the house.  But as I got further past the front row of trees I started to smell the unmistakable sulphury smell that the creek running past the crest had brought with it during my days of collecting soil on the mountain.  The water had been warm there in the spot where it pooled near my work location and I'd washed up in it several times, even on the bitterest cold days.

But this was  _strong,_  far stronger than the little wash-up pool had smelled.  I was crinkling up my nose and about to turn around to head back when I heard the distinct sound of water splashing.

Followed by a deep sigh.

_He's here._

There was a row of tall stones in front of me and I wasn't sure which way to go to get around them; but King was obviously on the other side and I was going to be damned if I'd let this little wannabe Stonehenge keep me from him.  I'd left my kid at home alone with a semi-stupid sheep dog that was named after me solely for the fact that she wasn't the brightest beast in the barn - there was no way I could justify that unless I kept going.  And so I clumsily made my way up the hill where it looked like the stones ended, and was muttering curse words at myself when I slipped and went gracelessly down the little slope on my butt.

My feet hit what felt like gravel and I heard rocks splashing into water, and when I dared to open my eyes I found myself on the shore of a fairly good sized pool of water.  Steam was rising thickly up from the surface and the smell of sulfur was so strong I nearly gagged.

"You alright?"

I blinked hard until I could see something dark through the foggy mist, on the far side of the pool.

"Yeah, I'm okay.  I think there's gravel up my rump though."

A deep chuckle rumbled across the water as I reached out to touch the surface.  It was hot.  Hot enough to make me yank my hand back in surprise.

"Come on in girl."

I squinted hard again, trying to see him, but the steam was too thick and it was too dark even with the moonlight glinting off the fog.

"It seems a little on the warm side."

"That's why it's called a hot spring."  There was a little splashing sound and then his voice again, giving me the disconcerting feeling I was being spoken to by the devil from across a pool of fire.  "Get your kit off and come in."

I struggled for a second to remember what  _kit_  meant, then stood up and brushed the dirt off my backside.  "No way, I'm not scalding my bare skin off."

"You come in clothed and you'll freeze on the way back."

Well...that had a clear logic to it that I couldn't argue with.  It was pretty damn cold, and walking back to the house in wet clothes sounded infinitely worse than melting my flesh off in a lava pit that smelled like farts.

"Turn around then."  Another chuckle, then silence.  I squinted through the steam.  "Are you turned around?"

"Aye."

"You're lying."

"You won't know until you come in."

"That's not fair."

"Do roghainn."

I knew what that meant -  _your choice._   It was something he said often, usually when leaving me to do something stupid after he'd told me the right way to do it.  It rankled me a little, but the truth of it was that I really wanted to join him.  And since I didn't have a swimsuit - or even a bra and panties - on under my pajamas and coat, I was just going to have to do as he said and get naked.

After a few seconds thinking about it, I shrugged and started to take my coat off.  _So be it._

 

 

The water was hot, even hotter than it had felt when I'd dipped my fingers in.  But I was stark naked and the damp night breeze felt like ice on my bare skin, and I knew the longer I took to get in the longer King could sit there staring at me.  There was no way in hell he was facing the other way and I could just imagine the smug look on his face as I waded gingerly into the pool, gasping and whining the whole time.  I kept catching little snatches of him laughing quietly to himself until finally I was in up to my neck, the steaming water still scalding me but getting easier to handle as I went further in.

"It's deep.  How deep is it?"

"Deep enough.  Keep coming to me."

I followed his voice till my toes were barely touching bottom.

"King, I can't touch."

"Keep coming.  There's a ledge ahead of you."

I could swim, but the intense heat of the water was making me a little breathless and lightheaded.  But I could finally see him, sitting against a big flat-faced stone in water up to his shoulders.  I dog paddled the last few yards to him and he reached out, grabbing me by one arm and tugging me toward him till my knees bumped the ledge.

"Hi."

He smiled, a distinctly sleepy smile that told me he had come here to unwind and recover from the vicious sensory onslaught of dinner with his relatives.  It seemed to be working for him and he let me settle up against him under the water, sliding my arms around his middle.  He was as naked as I was and I could feel him, all of him, pressed against me.

"Are you okay?  Feeling better?"

He didn't say anything, just looked at me for a long time, finally letting his eyes drop to my mouth.  One hand came up to smooth my wet hair back off my shoulder and I shivered, more from his touch than from the cold night air hitting everything that was above the water, and as he pulled me closer I decided I would just let him do whatever he wanted.  If he didn't care to speak, I'd let him be silent.  If he wanted to hold me, he could do that too.  I'd even let him rub against me if he wanted...an option that I was starting to think might quickly become the top choice as his embrace tightened, his arms circling my back in a crushing hug that put us face to face.

"Why are you here?"

"I saw you skulking off into the woods and - "

"Skulking."

"Yes, skulking.  It's something you do."  I scrunched my face up into an impersonation of his angry scowl and ducked my head like he always did when he was mad.  "Skulk."

The slightest hint of a grin played at the corners of his mouth.

"Where's Pod?"

"Your dog is babysitting him."

One eyebrow went up questioningly, but after a few seconds he nodded like _Okay, yeah_  with a little twitch of his mouth that looked like approval.  "You saw me skulking off and - ?"

His hands were moving slowly up and down on my upper arms now and I was losing my train of thought.  Oh yes.  _Skulking._

"I was curious."

"Curious?"

That slow, sensual glide of his hands over my skin moved up to my shoulders, his hands coming up the sides of my neck to touch lightly behind my ears before sliding back down again, his palms turning inward so that they grazed the sides of my breasts under the water on their way down.  His eyes had gone dark, but they were still locked to mine.

"Yeah.  I wanted to see what you do in the woods in the middle of the night."  I splashed a little bit of water between us to distract myself from his hands.  "I thought maybe you were a serial killer or it was ritual moonlight sacrifice night or something.  But you just go skinnydipping all by yourself, who would have guessed?"

The little smile on his lips twitched, just slightly, and he reached up to take my hand.  "I'd have invited you, but this is my  _mhàin."_  He laid my hand on his chest, just over his sternum.

"Mhàin?"

He nodded, taking my other hand and bringing it to his mouth.  "My alone place."

"Oh.  I'm sorry - "

I had to stop talking and close my eyes just then because he'd taken my fingers into his mouth, sucking at them in just about the most suggestive way I could have possibly imagined.  I actually felt my toes curl and heard myself make some strange little noise that sounded embarrassingly like _yipe_  as he caressed my fingertips with his warm tongue, alternating biting with sucking and looking very much like he was enjoying the hell out of it.

I knew for sure that I was.

I also knew it was time to stop talking, because he suddenly let go of my fingers with his teeth and moved my hand around to the back of his neck.  There was a flurry of warm breath sending foggy whorls of mist up between us as he lifted me up and ducked his head down to my chest - and before I'd even really registered the sudden shift in mood, he was running his hands over my breasts and sucking at them and I could feel him under the water, stiff and thick and rubbing against my stomach between us.

What was actually happening wasn't entirely clear in my head, but one other thing was  _completely_  clear.

I wanted him.

I wanted him  _bad._

But I'd already told myself once tonight that it was a bad idea, and my better sense was stubbornly telling me I should stick to that.

Until his hand slid down between us and I felt his fingers nudging up into that soft little place that always opened so willingly for him.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork by @vivianstark exclusively for this series, please don't post anywhere without permission from the author, credit to the artist, and a link back to this fic*


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

 

_**Bidh daoine a 'coimhead ri màireach; bidh daoine glic a 'cleachdadh a-nochd** _

_**Fools look to tomorrow; wise men use tonight** _

 

 

He found my sweet spot immediately and started rubbing it - King was an excellent tracker and navigator, I knew, but I'd slept with Ian for nearly a decade and he'd never found it anywhere near that quickly or effortlessly without me guiding him.  Even _I_  couldn't find it as fast as King did.  And he was rubbing it just right, making my whole body tense up with those first delicious twinges of arousal that make the juices start flowing freely.

I slipped my arms around his neck and arched my back, pushing my lower body against him.

_"Ohh...oh King..."_

The wet noises his mouth was making against my skin were turning me on every bit as much as his fingers were; he was sucking and biting and licking at me everywhere that was above the water while his hands worked beneath the surface, stroking and rubbing and teasing until I started to groan in frustration.  His cock was so hard...so intensely hot against my lower stomach...so damn  _huge._

And that was what was hanging me up.  It was the only thing that kept me saying no, that fear of stretching and the residual soreness that was still lingering.  I wasn't even sure if it was real or if I was just being paranoid; but when I reached under the water and pushed his cock down between my legs and felt it against me, right at my opening, I realized that the pain I'd been dreading didn't seem to be there.  Not much, anyway - there was a quick moment of dull tenderness when the head nudged up into my outer folds, but it wasn't horrible.  King moved his hands around behind me and gripped my bottom, lifting me up onto his hips.

I put my legs around him and held myself tightly against him so he couldn't do anything yet.

"King - "

"Shhh, Molly.  I won't."

"No, it's not that.  I...I think..."  My head was feeling disconcertingly spinny and I lost all my bravery.  "Does this water have healing properties or anything?"

He just looked at me for a long time and I could see the naked desire in his eyes, mixed with maybe a little bit of annoyance at being interrupted by my nonsense.  "All the springs do."  He shifted a little and rested his back against the stone wall so that all my weight was against his hips and lower belly.  "The heat should be relaxing you."

"It is."

He laid his head back against the rock and closed his eyes.  I could still feel him nudged up under me, hard and solid, and as I stared at the serene lack of expression on his face in the soft moonlight I made my decision.  It had been long enough and if I left it too much longer, it would just continue to sit stressfully between us.

We didn't need that.

He'd proven that he didn't just want me around for late night booty calls.  There was more to us than that.

So much more.

His hands were moving slowly up and down my back now, soothing me...and somewhere under the water I felt a tickling sensation.  It was familiar enough, but I'd never felt it while submerged before.   _He was making me wet._

That seemed really strange to me, the odd sensation of dampness being so discernible from the water of the pool.  And it brought with it a whole range of feelings that were starting to overwhelm me, one right after the other.

My skin prickled up as his hands slid over my shoulders and down to my breasts; I felt tightness in my chest and knew my nipples were stiffening under his palms.  It set loose a shivery feeling in my stomach and I actually felt my underside clench up as his rough hands rubbed over me.  His eyes were still closed, his head still resting against the rock, and when the moon slipped silently behind the clouds for a moment a shadow cast across him and the craggy surface of the stone.

The shadow almost looked like black wings.  And with his angelic face half shrouded by his dark beard, it was easy to see a malevolent demon resting there, his hungry fingers stroking lazily at me before he raised one hand to rub the water out of his eyes.

And then the clouds moved on, and the wings were gone.

He opened his eyes and there was a half sleepy smile on his lips, right before I leaned forward and kissed him.

 

So much had changed between us since our first days together, those painful hours of enforced cohabitation when I never knew if he hated me or was learning slowly to tolerate me or was simply waiting for the right opportunity to break my neck.  Nights when I'd shared my body with him without knowing if he appreciated it or if I was just an amalgamation of parts he found useful.  A week when I longed so hurtfully for just one kiss.  Just one.

And now he was opening his mouth for me to slip my tongue inside, and I could feel his breathing shift.  Kisses affected him now, the way they were meant to - not in that uncomfortable, forced, trying-to-do-this-right way that they had before.  It had always been obvious that he was a good kisser and I'd felt nearly every one of our liplocks all the way down to my crotch, but it was so different now.  He was relaxed and willing, and I didn't feel like I was taking something he really didn't want to give.  There was nothing begrudging to it.

His arms came up around me and he pulled me so tightly against him that for a moment it crushed the breath out of me.  I may have squeaked a little, but I had absolutely no desire to put any breathing space between us.  This was good.  This was so _so_ good.

 

There was no concept of time for us out there in the hot spring, except maybe the moon moving slowly across the sky above us - but we weren't paying attention, and in my head it was a good half hour before we finally dragged our mouths away from each other and he buried his face against the crook of my neck.  I was rubbing against him, we were both panting and moaning, and when he whispered a ragged "Please Mol?" against my ear I didn't even hesitate to say yes.

 

It hurt when he pushed into me, but not enough to make me want to stop.  He had taken his cock in his hand and nudged it in slowly, lowering me onto him with his other hand gripping my bottom while he sucked along my jawline, and as I willed myself to stay relaxed he slipped all the way inside me.  A loud gasp escaped my throat - I didn't intend for it to, but it slipped out before I could stop it.  It echoed off the stone walls around us and somewhere in the distance I heard the flutter of wings.

We'd spooked something.

It seemed appropriate, somehow.  Something that lived in these woods had politely left the area at the sound of my voice.  Did that mean it was acknowledging me as a top rung resident?

Not bad for my third day in Scotland.

It seemed silly, bumping around in my head in that ridiculously fuzzy few moments between cognizant thought and the complete takeover of desire, but I decided not to second guess it - mainly because King was inside me and starting to thrust upward slowly, his hands holding my hips tightly to move me up and down on him.  He was looking up at me now, his eyes past the darkness of lust and now bright with a passion that seemed to fit perfectly with the smile on his lips.   _He was smiling._   I couldn't remember ever seeing him do that during sex...before, yes, afterward definitely...but not during.  Never during.  And his eyes were open, locked intently to mine.

This was new.  New and exciting and - I wasn't sure which words were trying to form in my head, but I could feel it in my stomach and my nerves were set alight with what felt like joy and the shiver of thrilling accomplishment.  We'd passed some sort of a milestone, and it was an important one.

I wasn't afraid of being with him anymore...and he wasn't afraid either.  I knew then that he had been, and I felt stupid for not having noticed it before.  The tightly closed eyes, the refusal to look at me during our most intimate moments, the inability to speak to me in anything other than his native tongue while we were in each other's arms this way. 

He'd been afraid.

Afraid of me, of this, of _us._

But now his eyes were open and he was looking at me, smiling at me, tipping his head to kiss me, and then he was speaking to me, but not in Gaelic.  He was speaking to me with words I could understand without having to go look them up later, because he wanted me to know _now_ what he was saying.

_Thank you for coming, Molly._

_Thank you for bringing me my son._

There was more, but I stupidly grabbed him around the neck and pulled his mouth to mine, and whatever he was about to say next was lost to the kiss that I just couldn't wait for.

 

I would have loved to been able to say that everything slipped easily back into the fulfilling sex we'd shared before, that his deft fingers and skillful thrusting had me at climax before I could even catch my breath from accidentally slipping under the water - which I did, twice - but the truth of it was that he was too excited and I was ultimately too worried about Pod for it all to fall into place that easily.  He came quickly and I stopped him when he reached down between us again to finish me.

"Can we...maybe...finish this up back at the house?" I asked when he looked at me with confusion in his eyes.  We were both shivering, me from the cold and him from the intense release that had had him gasping and cursing as his fingers dug into the backs of my thighs.  "I need to pee and I'm worried Pod's going to wake up while I'm gone."

He leaned back on the rock behind him and gave me that condescending look of amused derision he was so well known for.

"Piss in the water."

"What?  No!  I'm not going to piss in the water, that's disgusting - we're _bathing_ in this water."

"I just fucking jizzed in this water Mol."

There wasn't anything I could say to that, so I slipped down off his hips and disentangled my arms and legs from around him.  He let go of me without argument and pointed toward the shore when I peered through the foggy mist in confusion, my sense of direction completely off kilter from the heat and the still shaky sensation that was firing my nervous system on all cylinders.

"You're a heathen, Thomas McClary, you know that right?"  I slapped the water behind me to splash him in the face as I gingerly tried to find the bottom with my toes.

"Aye, follower of Loki, patron god of assholes and ne'er do wells."

"What?"  I turned around to look at him and promptly slipped under the water when I lost the ledge.  It took me a minute to get my footing back and I sputtered gracelessly, momentarily blind with the slightly stinging mineral-heavy water in my eyes.  "I thought you were Celt, isn't he Norse?"

King shrugged and pushed off from the rock, grabbing me by the arm to keep me above water while he followed me to the shore.  "Once upon a time he were a local boy."

I remembered him mentioning something briefly back in Philadelphia about being descended from giants, and wondered if it had anything to do with that.  I was going to have to do some research because my interest was piqued; I'd read some Norse mythology but didn't recall anything about the gods ever coming to Scotland.

But not tonight.

Tonight I planned to convince him to sleep in the house with me, in my bed if possible.  I wanted to wake up beside him more than just about anything, to feel him next to me before I opened my eyes, to lay there with him listening to him breathe before Pod decided it was time to eat.

I wanted all that so badly that I was willing to do just about anything.

And so when he climbed out of the water and shook off like a dog in the moonlight, I clenched my jaws to stop my chattering teeth and went to my knees in front of him.  He had his head thrown back and was scrubbing the water out of his eyes when I leaned forward and pressed my face to his groin, sliding my tongue across the still swollen head of his cock.  His hands came down immediately to grip my head, one sliding down under my chin to guide my mouth onto him.

"Aye, fuck Molly..."

I held onto his hips and let him thrust into my mouth a couple of times as I sucked at him, then he stepped back and reached down to grab me by the shoulders and bring me back up to my feet.

"Get your kit on girl, you're goin'ta freeze."

I didn't argue - now that we were out of the steamy water and the cold night air was washing over us, the icy chill had lowered my body temperature alarmingly quickly.  It was settling into my bones already and starting to make me shiver violently, so I scrambled to pick up my clothes from the big flat stone where I'd left them and watched King retrieve his own clothes from the branches of a tree a few yards away.  And as I struggled to get dressed with frozen fingers and shaking legs, all I could think was that my son was going to be a handsome little bugger when he grew up.  His daddy was at least ten feet away from me and I was so physically affected by just the sight of him that I couldn't tell any longer what was shivering from the cold and what was trembling from desire.

He looked up and grinned at me as he buckled his kilt.

_Home.  The house.  Pod, he's at the the house with that goofy dog, you're going to freeze to death and your baby is probably being licked and slobbered on right now.  Make him take you home._

King bent over in front of me and lifted my foot to put my boot on as I tugged my pajama top over my head and struggled into my coat sleeves.  I lost my balance a little and grabbed his head, but the slightly annoyed look he shot at me wasn't threatening in the least.

In the hazy half light of the cloud shrouded moon it looked more like affection, and as he led me back through the woods to the house, he held my hand.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

**_Tha a h-uile duine gu math a 'tighinn gu crìch_ **

**_A's weel that ends weel._ **

 

 

 

"Where's the dog?  I told her not to leave him!!"

Panic hit me hard the second I stepped into the bedroom and didn't see Mol the pup next to the crib where I'd left her.  The volume of my voice startled Pod and he made a gasping sound in his sleep, his little arms shooting up in a reflex response to the sudden noise.

And as I rushed to the crib to look at him, a furry grey little head poked up and stared at me.

"Oh my god."

The dog was in the crib, curled around Pod, her paws resting on top of his head.

King had come up behind me and grabbed me by the shoulders just as I was reaching in to snatch the baby up, tugging me back and preventing me from touching either of them.

"Leave them be, it's what she does."

"What?"

"She's keeping him warm.  She does it with the lambs."  He let go of me and tapped the top rail of the crib, making a little pointing-at-his-feet hand signal that the dog instantly obeyed; she stood up and launched herself out of the crib, landing clumsily in front of us and sitting there staring expectantly up at King with her tail flapping violently.  "Babies lose heat out the tops of their heads," he said quietly as he knelt down and scratched her ears.  "It's in the baby books Mol.  You did actually read one at some point, right?"

I quickly checked Pod's breathing and then stared at King while he petted Mol.  He looked up at me like I should know what he was talking about, and in truth I did - but all I could think at that moment was _Oh my god I'm so stupid, did I really leave my kid with a sheepdog?!?  What the fuck was I thinking?!_

It took all of a few seconds for me to realize that he was right, of course.  The reason why you're supposed to put hats on babies, even in the summer.  I suddenly felt ashamed for doubting the dog, especially knowing that King so obviously trusted her.  And, for the time being at least, it appeared she knew more about babies than I did.

But my hands were shaking and as I fussed over Pod to the point of almost waking him up, King took her and walked her out to the barn.  I knew he could tell I was shaken and even though she'd undoubtedly done a good job of caring for the baby, he could sense that I was stressed and maybe a little bit unreasonable and that he needed to get her out of my sight until I calmed down.  Maybe it was our encounter in the hot spring that was making me tense, I couldn't really tell - stopping before I was finished had left my nerves a bit jangly - but I was feeling like the poster mom for negligent parenting and when King came back into the house I was walking around the bedroom holding Pod so tightly to me that he was starting to cry.

He took one look at us and approached me slowly with one hand out, almost like he was calming a vicious animal that had gotten itself cornered.

"Let me have him, Mol," he said quietly.  "He knows you're upset."

I didn't know why I obeyed so quickly and without argument; I did know, without any doubt, that if he was Ian I would have told him to fuck off and leave me alone, that I was the mother here and he should get out of my way.  But something in his voice made me trust him completely and I handed Pod to him, fussing with straightening his sleep sack and touching his head until King finally told me to go get showered.

I did that too, without hesitation.

It was becoming quite a habit, doing what he told me.

And I wasn't even arguing.

 

When I got out and assured him that I was feeling better and my nerves had settled, he handed Pod back over to me and went to get showered himself.  The smell of the mineral heavy water was all over us both and though it was faint now, I could still smell the sulphury tang of it dried into our clothes and in our damp hair.  But once I had it rinsed off me and the rotten egg stench was replaced by the mildly clove-ish scent of what looked like a very handmade bar of soap in the bathroom, I realized how relaxed and happy I felt.  Being close to King like that after having spent the day together doing domestic things, shopping and eating and visiting people, it was making me feel like a semi-normal sort of home life might be possible for us.  He'd shared his secret alone place with me afterwards, without resentment or irritation.  That was a big thing.

And as I sat down to feed Pod on the surprisingly comfy couch and put my feet up on the oddly tasteful primitive carved wood coffee table to look around at the lovely new home I hadn't had time yet to explore, a hard shiver shook me so violently that Pod gave me a nip with his gums to protest it.

"Ouch, come on now...sorry dude."

It was cold.  None of the fireplaces were going; the one I'd left lit that morning had long since burned out and the house was achingly chilly now, more so than it had been when I'd gotten in the shower...and after having warmed up, I was now uncomfortably aware of the cold.  The temperature was obviously dropping rapidly outside and I pulled the blanket off the back of the couch to wrap Pod in it like a little black-haired burrito, which served the purpose both of keeping him warm and preventing him from rolling off the couch while I retreated to the bedroom to put on every item of clothing I owned - which currently consisted of two shirts and a sweater, a pair of jeans over my pajama bottoms, my coat, hat, gloves, and a scarf.

I felt a bit like the Stay-Puft marshmallow man with all that padding and I knew I must look ridiculous, but at least I was warm now and made it my new goal in life to light every fireplace in the house on my own, not just to heat the place up but to prove that I could.  I wasn't sure how many there were, but I'd seen three so far and there was a double-burner stove in the kitchen that I figured would add some much welcome radiant heat to that end of the house.  I was struggling with fitting a fat chunk of log into the main fireplace in the livingroom when King came out of the bathroom and stood there in the doorway, just staring at me with a strange look on his face.

I stopped kicking at the log and stood up to look back at him, proud of myself for taking the initiative instead of waiting on him to do it.

But as his eyes scanned over me and a quirky little grin started to twitch at the corners of his mouth, I knew I'd done something wrong and he was about to tell me what it was.

"What?  Can you help me with this log, it's not fitting."

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?  I'm lighting the fireplaces, it's cold.  We don't appreciate the finer aspects of hypothermia like you do, you know.  I turned on the stove too, it should start to get warm in here soon."

He didn't say anything for a long time, just looked from me, all bundled up in every piece of clothing I owned, over to Pod, wrapped up in a huge blanket and unable to move, his little face peering out at us with a beseeching expression of _help me,_ and then strolled over to a box on the wall about a foot into the hallway and popped it open.

_Oh god no..._

I heard the whoosh of a furnace somewhere firing up, then the first warm caress of heated air blowing down on me from a vent near the ceiling that I had, up to that moment, failed to notice existed.

I was never going to live this down.  _Never._

King shut the thermostat box and I could see he was struggling not to laugh, and bless him he kept his mouth shut as I stood there feeling like an absolute idiot while he carefully unwrapped the baby and sat down on the couch with him.

"Okay.  Central heat.  That's a plus," I muttered as I headed off back to the bedroom, stripping out of my coat and scarf while I knew he was watching me with that insufferable smirk.  As I shut the door behind me so I could throw myself on the bed and deal with my humiliation in private, I heard him laughing quietly from the livingroom.  There was an undeniable lilt of humor in his voice when I heard him say,

_"Feck, woman."_

 

 

The house warmed quickly and I came out of the bedroom to find he had turned off the stove in the kitchen and was stomping the log that I'd been struggling with, breaking it in half easily with his boot and tossing into the fireplace.  There was a nice little fire going, cozy and radiating a comforting warmth toward the couch, and as I leaned over to check on Pod I felt King's arm go around my waist from behind.  A gentle push flopped me over onto the couch and he sat down beside me, putting his boots up on the coffee table like he was just daring me to say something to him about it.

And I did.  He'd built this house, sure - but he'd given it to me, and that meant my rules stood just as officially here as they had back home.  I gave his knee a shove.

"Boots off or feet down.  I know you were raised in a barn but you're going to mind your manners in this house."

He stared at me for a minute, then slowly removed his feet from the table.  It was then that I realized he was wearing just the towel from his shower and his work boots.  But he had a cup of coffee in his hand and I instantly forgot about his attire.  "You've got coffee?  Where did you get coffee?!"

He let me take the cup from his hand and watched as I took a sip, his eyes going slowly from my face to my shoulder, following his hand as it trailed down my back.  "I made it while you were in the shower.  There's more."

"Mm.  Get yourself another cup then."

Quicker than I could take a second swallow, he had snatched the mug from my hand and put it on the coffee table while simultaneously leaning over me and shifting me down so that I was half laying under him.  I yelped in surprise but didn't protest; Pod was beside us yammering in his little baby words but once King started touching me, I heard the gurgles and coos less and the sound of our suddenly heavy breathing more.

He had just pulled my shirt up and was squeezing my breast when the baby started kicking us, hard little soccer kicks with both feet that told us he wasn't going to settle for being ignored.

"The last time he did that he was on the inside," I whispered breathlessly, more than a little bit surprised at how difficult it was to speak.  King stood up off me and picked up his coat, a sudden move that left me confused and startled.  "Where are you going?"

"The barn."

"What?  Why?"  Pod had started to fuss the moment he stood up, that steadily rising whine that always meant he was about to burst into a full throated squall indicating either hunger, sleepiness, or a wet diaper.  I picked him up and King's eyes dropped to him, and I knew immediately what his abrupt attempt to leave was all about.  "No, wait.  Don't go, okay?"

I knew he couldn't handle the inconsolable crying of an upset baby, even less so when his mind was on activities far more amorous than rocking an infant back to sleep.  But god help me I didn't want him to go, I was desperate for him to stay with me and I'd be damned if I was going to let him retreat to the barn and leave me all alone with my quivery knees.  I needed him.  I could do it alone but _I didn't want to._

"Go get the dog."

He looked at me and I could tell he didn't understand.  I reached for the towel around his hips and gave it a little tug.  "Pod seemed content with her, go get her and we'll see if she can do it again."

There was a long moment of hesitation where I knew he was working it out in his head, probably doing a little weighing of my previous reaction to her babysitting skills and deciding whether or not I was serious, but in the end he just nodded, tugged on his coat, and obeyed me without a word...and as I sat in the rocking chair in the bedroom feeding Pod and soothing him back to sleep, I could hear King in the livingroom, giving the dog her instructions in Gaelic.

 

It felt strange and maybe a little bit creepy crawling into bed with King while the dog watched curiously from her station by the crib.  She was staring at us and as King settled in and started to move over me, I caught her eye over his shoulder and realized I wasn't going to be able to handle being observed.  She looked confused and whined a little bit when the bed creaked, and King noticed immediately that I was distracted and looked back at her.

"Leig sìos, bi sàmhach," he ordered sternly.  She sat down immediately, then laid down and put her head on her front feet.  She was on the chair next to the crib and I noticed that she turned so that she was facing the baby.

"What did you say to her?"

"Same thing I'm about to tell you - lay down and be quiet."

I ignored the equal parts humor and dead seriousness in his tone and kept obsessing instead on the dog.  "Will she get in the crib with him if he fusses?"

"Aye."

"Why does she keep looking at us like that?"

He was nuzzling his face against my throat and I knew by the shift in his breathing that he was about to be finished with this conversation, whether I was ready to stop talking or not.  "She's never seen me with a woman, Mol.  It's worryin' her."

"Oh...wow."

I knew it was true - I'd never doubted King had been faithful to me, even during that uncertain time when our standing with each other was so unsure.  It had never entered my mind that he might bed down with another woman even once.  But seeing the dog fidgeting and looking so worried about our activity on the bed was a reassuring bit of confidence boosting truth that I hadn't realized I needed, and as I felt King's hand slide around under me to lift my hips up to meet his, I stopped worrying.  About Pod, about the dog, about myself and King.  About this.

I was wet and ready when he finally pushed into me, and my body hadn't forgotten exactly where we'd left off in the hot spring.  A soft laugh rumbled over my skin as he let go of my nipple with his teeth and raised his head to look at me while I panted and heaved underneath him.

"Did you really just come?  That were no more than eleven seconds, Mol."

But I couldn't answer him, because my lungs hadn't filled back up with air yet and my soul, wherever it had fluttered off to, wasn't ready to come home.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of Molly and King by VivianStark exclusively for this story - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

 

**_Chan e ar gnìomhachas san t-saoghal seo soirbheachadh, ach a bhith a 'cumail a' fàilligeadh ann an deagh spioradan_ **

**_Our business in this world is not to succeed, but to continue to fail in good spirits._ **

 

 

 

I had a wish - a fantasy, mostly, since I knew how unlikely it was to actually transpire the way it played out in my head - that King would stay the night with me in my bed, holding me, waking up pre-dawn to make love to me again while I was still half asleep, then dozing off in each other's arms till sunlight inching its way through the big window finally fell across our faces and woke us with its warm glow.  It was a nice romantic little dream, and I entertained it for about ten minutes until reality went right back to its cockblocking ways.

I had just dozed off when I felt him getting out of the bed and groaned miserably, out loud without meaning to.  I'd known he wouldn't stay...men like King didn't linger in bed for longer than it took to sleep or get laid, and then they were right back off to running around the hills or chopping wood or whatever the hell else he got up to out there where there was no use for me.

"What?  Banrigh?"

The sound of his voice startled me; I hadn't thought he would pay any attention to my complaint, but when he reached back and laid his hand on my shoulder I shivered.  His touch always did that to me, like when someone lays a cold hand on your bare stomach before you have a chance to tense up in preparation for it.  But his hands were never cold, and I knew one day I would finally get used to being touched by him.

But not today.  Today his touch still shot a tingly ripple of excited pleasure through my nervous system.

"The sheep have to be grazed," I said quietly, letting a tinge of annoyed disappointment make me sound petulant even though I knew he either wouldn't notice or would ignore it entirely.  I heard him grunt in response.  "And the other animals all have to be watered and fed."

"Aye."

"And you've got a full day of kingly stuff that needs to be done, whatever that entails.  Stuff that'll keep you invisible up on the hill until you come skulking back down tonight to bunk down in the barn until I bully you into coming into the house again."

There was no response to that one, so I turned over and looked at him.  "No?"

He shook his head, letting his eyes fall brazenly to where the sheet barely covered my chest as I stretched.

"No."

"So...you'll come back when you're done with the animals?"

"I'm not going yet."

"Then why are you up?"

"I've gotta piss, Mol."

"Oh."  I would never get over how easily he could make me feel like a complete idiot with just the barest handful of words.  "And then you'll come back?"

"You're a needy one."

"Yeah well...once the baby wakes up my day will have no choice but to start...so...we're sort of on borrowed time right now."  I slid my arms around his hips from behind and let one hand stray to his lap; he was still naked and his cock was half hard, though he _had_ said he needed to pee so I couldn't be sure if it was that or a remnant of the wakeup stiffy he'd used on me earlier.  God that had been good.  He'd rutted up against me from behind and slid one hand up to my neck, wrapping his long warm fingers around my throat and squeezing just enough to make me gasp awake as he pushed into me.  It was no surprise that I was already wet enough to accept him easily - we'd fallen asleep rubbing against each other after reading a bit from his grandda's book, and when I'd settled with my back to him he had pushed one knee up between my legs so that any time I moved in my sleep, the pressure of his thigh nudging into my underside served as a reminder that he was there.

It was oddly comforting and blissfully arousing and it felt like so much _more_ than what we'd shared in my bed back in Philadelphia.  That had been ridiculously good too, but it had always borne a worrisome undercurrent of finality, of possibly being the last time for us.  It felt different now.  Now we were in my bed again but on _his_ territory this time, and the days of him trying his hardest to run me off were long behind us.

That was a reassuring bit of knowledge, and it made me able to finally relax in his arms enough to feel like there was some permanence to it all.

"Be quiet Mol," he whispered, pushing my hand more firmly against the bulge in his lap.  I wasn't sure if he meant stop talking or stop thinking, but I obeyed him on both grounds...he felt hot and solid against my palm and I couldn't stop myself from wrapping my fingers around him and giving him a little stroke as I settled in against his back till I could hear his heartbeat against my cheek.  There was a gasping breath from his mouth and he let his head drop back against mine for a moment before he started to laugh quietly.

"What?"

"I can'nae come when I have to piss, Mol."

"Oh...yeah, sorry."

I gave him one last stroke before I let him go, teasing my fingers over the swollen head of his cock and grinning against his back when I felt him shudder.  And as I watched him stand up and walk across the room completely naked, absolutely unselfconscious and undeniably the most beautiful creature I'd ever laid eyes on with the single exception of the son we'd made together, I realized a handful of things that made me pull the sheet up over my face and gnaw on my fist like a silly teenage girl trying not to squeal out loud.

That man had not only just gotten out of my bed, _he was going to get back into it._   It felt like a hard won victory and an unexpected gift all bound up together in the form of the two of us, taking our first uncertain but determined steps down a road whose terrain was unfamiliar to us both.

_Turadh._

It was a little bit scary...but as I listened to the amusingly domestic sound of him peeing in the bathroom that he'd built for me while our baby son shifted and grunted in his crib next to the bed, I realized that scary and exciting were sometimes oddly similar sensations.

And it felt good.

We were the calm in between the worst bits of the storm, and it could rage and thunder around us all it wanted...we were safe and warm in the eye of it all.

 

 

King stayed long enough to linger in bed with me for a little while after we made love again, until Pod woke up and started to cry that shrill, demanding _I'm hungry_ scream that made his father's eye start to twitch before I took pity on him and finally told him to go feed his dog while I fed his son.  He had let Mol the pup out somewhere around daybreak to stop her whining and trying to get on the bed with us, and when the baby started crying she started whimpering and scratching at the door, desperate to get back in.  I assumed it meant she had accepted responsibility for Pod and would look out for him, but the combined noise of her yipping and Pod squalling was setting King's hands to shaking.  I could tell he was trying to stay because he knew it was what I wanted, but I couldn't do that to him.  There was plenty of time for him to get used to the inevitable and neverending playlist of noise that came with parenthood...and I felt no need to rush him.

And so he went to the barn to get Mol her food and I nursed Pod until he settled, then started making breakfast with the hope that the smell of bacon and eggs would bring him back sooner rather than later.

But there was no bacon and no eggs, and when King came back into the house with ruddy red cheeks and blowing fog from the cold morning air, I sheepishly set a bowl of oatmeal down in front of him.

He had no complaints and ate it just like he ate everything else, hunched over his bowl as if he expected it to be taken from him before he could finish.   _Damn those barbarian cousins of his._ I had no doubt they were the reason he protected his food like a starving dog.  The thought of them reminded me of something else that seemed unbearably important, and before I'd had time to think it through I heard it coming out of my mouth. 

"I have questions."

King shook his head, obviously not in the mood for whatever I was about to start yammering about.  He stood up before I could say anything else and came around behind me, resting his big hands on the sides of my neck and nuzzling his mouth to that tickly little spot right at the nape, where every breath feels erotic and even the slightest touch is electric.  "Sod your questions."

"No, I let you do that.. _.thing_...that you wanted - so you owe me at least one answer."

He gave the back of my neck a little nip and I thought he was just going to ignore me again, but he finally muttered "One."

My head exploded with all the things I wanted to know - would I get to meet his other children?  What about relatives on the McClary side - he and Pod were the last males, but were there any aunts, female cousins, distant relatives of his father's?  What was in the soil that Clendon Williams had coveted so much that they were willing to displace an entire village to get it?  And where the _hell_ had my new underwear gotten off to already??

But out of all of those, the one that came out of my mouth was apparently the worst one I could have chosen.

"What do you have that your uncle wants so bad?"

I felt his hands tighten on my shoulders and heard his breath catch in his throat.  It was one of those pauses where you immediately wonder which way the next event is going to go - is he going to answer me or is he going to snap my neck? - and I realized after a few seconds that I was holding my own breath in anticipation.  Because I really wanted to know, but not at the expense of King being triggered or traumatized by having to share information with me that he couldn't deal with.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, immediately second guessing my stupid choice.  "Don't answer that.  It's not my business, I'm sorry."  I turned around inside his arms and just stood there while he stared past me, shocked by the look on his face.  It wasn't the scowl I'd expected to see.

He looked like he was about to cry.

And then, just like that, the troubled look left his eyes and he turned away.  He was out the door and gone before I could even say his name.

 

 

I felt like shit about whatever that had been in his face for that brief few seconds; hurt?  Sadness?  Grief?  I had no idea, it looked like a little bit of all of it and I was furious with myself for letting my ridiculous nosiness wreck the perfect morning we'd been having up to that moment.  It seemed like every time I made progress with him I ended up setting us back a huge step by doing or saying something stupid, and I knew, I _knew_ he was trying but that there was only so much he could put up with from me.  And I knew questions annoyed him, but still I kept on asking, playing a pointless game of russian roulette every time I ended a sentence with a question mark.

This time there had been a bullet in the chamber.

And King had left, whistling for the dog to get in the jeep and barreling off up the hill to do god knows what until noon when I decided to push my luck a little bit more.

 

I wasn't about to let him stay mad at me for the whole day, not after the night and subsequent morning we'd had.  It had been good and there was no way I could stomach the idea of him staying away from me now for what I'd finally decided wasn't that insurmountable of a transgression.  He knew what I was like, just like I knew what _he_ was like...if I had to get used to him and his quirks, he was going to have to do me the same courtesy and get used to mine.

It was only fair.

And so I decided to make him some lunch and bake him something sweet as a peace offering, but though the pantry was stocked with dry goods, I hadn't had time yet to make a trip to the grocers for perishables and the lack of milk and eggs was just too prohibitive to work around.

I thought for a minute about how to deal with this problem before I realized I was mobile - I had a vehicle and I knew how to get to town, thanks to my previous employment that had sent me back and forth from the village to this mountain too many times to count.  There was nothing to stop me from just going into town and looking around until I found what I needed.

I felt sort of stupidly proud of myself and a wee bit vindictive toward King as I marched out of my house with my baby bundled up against the cold, ready to go and fend for myself and prove that I was self sufficient and knew how to get shit done - right up till the moment a huge honking monstrosity came charging at me from the other side of the car, flapping gigantic crazy wings at me as I ran screaming back into the house in a panic.

So much for self sufficiency and getting shit done.

I peeked out the window to see what the hell it was and was greeted with the sight of a huge bird of some kind, sitting resolutely between the house and the car and looking very much like it had no intention of moving.

_Okay Scotland, you and me, I know we have a history and you don't like me very much...but I've agreed to give you a chance, which means you gotta cut me some slack here and not be sending devil birds to trap me in my house.  I need groceries, dammit._

But the devil bird wouldn't be moved, even when I opened the door just far enough to throw a stick of kindling at it.  It turned its beady eyes toward me and opened its gigantic bill and let out a piercing honk that drove me right back into the house again. 

I did the only thing I could think to do, even though it knocked my self confidence down so many notches it would probably never recover.  I snatched up my phone and called King.  It made me feel silly and helpless to do it and I knew he was going to be mad at me for making him come back down the hill for something so ridiculous, but my experience with big honking birds was limited and this one just seemed so aggressive and angry.

He answered on the third ring and I didn't even give him time to say hello before I started yelling.

"There's an enormous bird in my front yard and it won't let me out of the house!"

There was a long pause during which I could only imagine he was rolling his eyes, so long that for a few seconds I thought he might have hung up on me.  He finally sighed and there may have been a slight hint of amusement in his voice, but I was too worked up to notice.  "What's it look like?"

"What do you mean what's it look like?  It's a huge ass ugly bird and it's mean!"  To prove my point, I held my phone up to the window and snapped a picture of it, waiting for him to reply once I'd sent it.  He sounded bored and slightly exasperated when he spoke again.

"It's a goose, Mol."

"Why is it in my yard!?"

"They follow the water.  Probably came down off the hill along the creek."

That made sense, but I didn't really care - I just wanted it gone, I had things to do and it was a serious impediment to my getting them done.  "Will you come get it?"

"It'll move on on its own."

"But I can't go outside!"

"Then stay in."

"I can't!  I need to go into the village and get some milk."

"I'll bring you some milk."

"Not sheep milk, I'm baking and it has to be from a cow."

His voice went from bored and exasperated to dangerously annoyed in the space of about two seconds.  "Who says?"

"I say."  Defiance wasn't going to get me anywhere except in trouble with him and I knew it, so I lowered my voice and changed my tone in the hopes of appealing to his sense of pity, if he had any.  "Please come get the hell bird?"

It didn't work, though I really hadn't expected it to.  King had no pity where stupidity was concerned, and I was well aware that he thought I was pretty damn stupid most of the time.

"If I have to come down there it's goin' in the pot."

"What?  No I don't want you to kill it, just make it go away!"

The interminable lack of response that followed was awkward but I could hear him breathing, so I changed my line of attack and tried to appeal to his desire for a less troublesome outcome than traveling all the way back down the hill just to chase a goose around.  "You have a cow, right?  That big hairy thing with the devil horns?  Can't you like, send it down here?"  It sounded stupid even to my own ears, but for some reason I had it in my head that cows knew where all the barns were and were programmed to go to them automatically.  I had a barn, surely it knew where it was?

So help me, King snorted.  And then he shot down my alternative solution with a terse, "He's not a milk cow."

"Oh."

My only excuse for what I did next was pure desperation and a resigned willingness to appeal to his baser nature as a hot blooded male.  It was cheap and it was manipulative and it was a totally wobbly last resort, but it was all I had left.  I dropped my coat on the floor, glanced over at Pod with a weak apologetic smile and told him not to excuse my behavior just because I was his mother, and stretched my sweater tight across my chest before snapping a pic and hitting send.

There was a long silence from his end, and once I'd swallowed my embarrassment at resorting to such a crude method of getting my way, I sighed and made my final play.  "Just come move the goose and I'll make you some muffins, okay?  Please?"

The silence was deafening for another several seconds before he finally said, "Blueberry."

Outside I could hear the devil bird honking.

"Deal."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *original photo credit to j caldwell, editing and manipping by me


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

 

**_Lùb nas fheàrr na bhriseadh_ **

**_Better bend than break_ **

 

 

 

"Get in the house."

"What?  Why?"

King had come down off the mountain like an angry god pissed off about having to answer the supplications of the faithful and clapped his hands exactly twice and whistled once to get the goose to head off back toward the creek, waddling and hissing and honking at him while he cursed at it in Gaelic.  And then he turned on me, and the look in his eyes was both mildly threatening and darkly, wickedly amused.

"Get in the house," he growled, pointing toward the front door.  "You owe me my pay."

"What?  I said I'd make you muffins - "

"Are they made?"

"No, I have to go to town and get eggs and milk, that's why I needed you to move the goose!"

"Then get in the house or I'll take my pay right here."

"What??"

He was advancing on me swiftly while unbuckling his kilt and I realized what he meant - he was going to have his way with me on the icy front porch unless I obeyed him, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out if he was playing or if he really meant to do it.  But either way, I wasn't about to get my pants yanked down outside in the frigid cold, so I ran into the house and slammed the door.

It didn't stop him...it didn't even slow him down, though I hadn't really expected it would.  He kicked the door open and pointed with one hand for the dog to go watch the baby and with the other hand for me to get my ass into the bedroom, and it was then that it started to dawn on me what life with King McClary was going to be like.  Confusing, exhilarating, unpredictable, exciting...

All the things life with Ian had never been.

A quick glance at the baby on his quilt on the floor with the dog settling down beside him put my one and only concern to immediate rest and I bent over to pull off my boots, my head wrapping itself around one thing and one thing only.

Obeying the king.

 

He followed me into the bedroom and pointed to the bed.  "You get to choose, but you best do it quick because I've got things to do."

I didn't really understand what he was talking about so I just sort of stood there, staring at him in confusion, watching him strip out of his kilt and sweater.  His boots were still on and I couldn't stop looking at them, wondering blankly if he was going to take them off or not.

And then he grabbed me by my shoulders, turned me around, and slapped my ass _hard._ It was hard enough to hurt but the sound that came from my throat wasn't the least bit indignant or distressed...it was...needy.  Needy and wanting.  But he was obviously finished with waiting on me and gave the back of my neck a firm squeeze that registered in my brain as a complete and total expression of dominance, and I swear I felt myself go wet when he nudged his lips up against my ear and whispered _"Get your kit off, wench."_

I did that too, following blindly on my new pattern of unquestioning obedience.  And when I was undressed and King was positioning me on the bed the way he wanted me, I knew that handing everything over to him on this side of the bedroom door was an assignment of authority that I could happily sign off on.  He'd shown a proclivity for switching back and forth between dominant and submissive since the very first time I'd slept with him - _officially_ slept with him, not including moments of borderline sexual assault while animals were watching - but something about being called on to handle tasks seemed to bring out the forceful side in his nature.

I was on my knees holding onto the headboard while that little bit of information reconciled itself in my head.

 _"Brace thu fhèin boireannach"_ he growled from behind me as he gripped my hips and pulled my butt back toward him.  _"_ _Timcheall air an seo tha geòidh a 'cosg dùbailte."_

I didn't know what he was saying, but honest to god I didn't care.  The goose was gone and King's tongue was sliding into places unknown and all I could put together in the scrambled mess that comprised my current thought process was _Thank you Scotland and the seventh level of hell for sending me that bird._

 

 

About twenty minutes later he was tugging his sweater back on while I jumped around pulling my jeans up, noticing with a groan that he never had taken his boots off.  Four days in my new house and already time to wash the duvet.  He also had a bad habit of wiping his hands on the sheets, I'd discovered back in Philly when mysterious wet spots kept appearing in random places on the bed after we'd had sex.

I didn't want to think about it, so I made a mental note to look around the house for a laundry room and, failing finding one, sort out whether or not there would be one in town.  Did Scotland have laundromats?  I didn't have any quarters though, and I knew there wouldn't be any in King's pockets for me to steal.  Just candy.

"So we're square on the goose now?"

He looked at me as he buckled his kilt, tossing his head back to throw his messy hair out of his eyes.  "Aye, we're square."

"You could have just waited for me to make the muffins."

He slapped my butt on his way past, almost knocking me over as I tottered on one foot, still trying to pull my jeans on.

"Why would I do that."

I think I yelped - it wasn't a stinging smack like the earlier one had been, but it was still something I wasn't used to.  Ian had never slapped my ass.  He said it was disrespectful and uncivilized.  And though I had nodded my head and agreed with him, I'd always secretly wished he would do it just once anyway, so I could experience what it felt like to be wanted on a primitive level, to be acknowledged as an object of desire, to have it pass through my head just once that _yep I belong to him._

All of the things that I felt now, in this moment, with King.

"I don't know...maybe because it was the original deal?"

He gave me a cockeyed look, leaning in close to stare me straight in the eyes for several long seconds before he winked.

"I'm a McClary, woman.  There has'nae been a trustworthy one of us since 1411."

 

He stayed long enough to help me get Pod bundled up again for our delayed trip into town; I'd noticed that fatherhood-type things made his eyes shine and he seemed so happy, despite having had to come down off the mountain to deal with my nonsense.  He was holding the baby up over his head in a way that made my stomach clench up, but what really jolted my nerves was when he glanced at me and let his eyes roam over me for an appreciative few seconds.  There was a suggestive little glint in his look and before I thought about what I was saying, I'd said it.

"I can't figure out which of you is the typical male."

He hefted Pod up again and wiggled him in the air, setting the dog to barking and nipping at his boots.  "Who's it down to?"

"You and Ian."

"Ah, the fuckshite.  Bet he's moanin' his shit luck right about now, you walkin' out on him."

I shushed the dog and flopped down on the sofa next to him while he started tucking the baby into his little snowsuit.  Pod's face was half covered by the hood before he got it adjusted and it gave me a little tickle of joy that he sort of had my eyes - although it meant a return to the blue eyed kings that the current king had been the single historical deviation from.  "Naw, I wasn't an important enough part of his life for him to be devastated now that I'm gone."

"No, but that job were."

"True...he did live for that job."  I watched him zip the suit shut and sighed.  Ian had put so much importance on his career - and on mine.  Yet it had been so easy for him to undermine my success to bolster his own once I'd broken up with him.

"Well he's got nothin now."

"What?  What do you mean by that?"

King handed me the baby and stood up.  "I shut Clendon Williams down."

"You did _what??"_

Mol the pup was jumping around by the door, wanting to be let out, and King whistled for her to shush.  For the first time since I'd met him it didn't split my head open and Pod jerked his head around to see what the noise was.  "Aye, shut it down, sent him and the cronies packin.  Monarch bought the company, cut him and the committee that fired you loose."

Well this was new...I'd had no idea.  King had never struck me as the vindictive type, but there was no other way to classify this particular action except to just call it revenge.  Unless it was a board decision and he simply voted on it - though something told me he'd played a much larger part than that.  Clendon Williams was a successful company, there was no reason for it to be taken over and shut down.  Merged, sure...maybe even chopped up and divided into different parts of the parent company that bought it.  But shut down?

Was I _really_ that important to him?

"What about the employees?"

"Found other work for 'em.  Except peckershite, he's on his own."

"Wait - "  I stood up and went over to where he'd paused by the door, pushing it shut so he couldn't leave yet.  "So who's been paying my severance and maternity comp?"

"I have.  Well, Monarch.  But that's me, so..."  He held his hand up, the crown ring sitting heavy on his finger.  It was a total mindfuck, looking at that ring and realizing that the man wearing it spent his days roaming the countryside with a flock of sheep, showered outside, owned exactly one pair of boots that looked like he'd had them since his feet first stopped growing.  The same man that ran a company - and not only ran it but _owned_ it.

A man who could buy and sell not only an entire company but all the people who worked for it.

A man whose house didn't even have indoor plumbing and who talked like he barely had an education, when you could understand him or get him to talk in the first place.

A man who was looking past me right that moment, making faces at a baby that looked just like him.

I wasn't ever sure what to think of him...all I knew was that he confused and delighted me, all the wildly conflicting realities of him.

"I'm going into town," I said quickly, stating the obvious but rushing ahead when I saw his eyebrow go up.  "People will probably be surprised to see me.  What should I tell them?  You know - about why I'm here."

The eyebrow stayed up and I knew he was confused about what I meant.  I wanted a confirmation from him that I was here because he and I were together, but I knew I wouldn't get it.  King never bothered to explain things or assign reasons to actions.  He did what he did for whatever reason he did it and that was that, he could care less what anyone else thought of his motivations.  But I needed a little more than that.  I needed a title to go with my position...and I wasn't about to march into the grocers and announce that the Banrigh had arrived.

I wanted him to call me his girlfriend, his intended, his woman, whatever it was that popped into his head to describe me when he looked at me.

But I knew he only thought of us as _turadh,_ and it was enough for him.

I could live with that for now, but sooner or later it was going to drive me nuts, wondering what I was to him besides just the mother of his son and a constant source of disruption to his formerly quiet little life.

 

 

"Aye look at you, all pink cheeked and lookin like a wee angel!"

The bell jangling above the door sent a disquieting shiver of deja vu through me, reminding me of the last time I'd heard it, the day I left Scotland.  The day King and I had stood in the parking lot staring at each other like enemies on opposite sides of a battlefield, sizing each other up for the final blows to be struck, trying to keep the rest of their respective armies from figuring out that they'd fallen in love during the course of the war.  A couple coming out of the tavern had set the bell to ringing and it had yanked us out of our private little moment just long enough for us to remember that the world was bigger than the vet's parking lot.

We'd kissed and I had gone home, and the book had closed.  We hadn't known at the time that a second book was hastily being scribbled out with our names in it.

I smiled at Glenda and settled in at a table while she brought out a coffee and set it in front of me.  "Thanks, I finally got a little sleep last night - that flight is murder."

She gave me a condescending look as she bent over to unzip Pod's suit and push his hood back to get a better look at him.  "I was talkin' about the bairn."

"Oh."

She grinned, sitting down across from me to cuddle him on her lap.  "But you look sweet too.  Let me make a wild assumption that you've settled nicely into that little country mansion that popped up at the foot of the sliabh?"

"Yeah...did you know he was building that?"

"Did I know?  I supplied the whiskey for the long nights that he worked up there till dawn.  A committee were formed to try to keep someone there at all times in case the stupid man fell asleep on the roof and froze to death before morn."

"Really?"

"Aye!  He seemed to think you were gonna need it sooner rather than later.  I guess he were right on that one."  She held Pod up in front of her face and nuzzled her nose against his, her voice raising to a squeaky pitch that made him giggle.  _"Because here you are."_

I watched her play with him for a minute, dying to start asking questions but knowing that the constantly jangling door bell meant the pub was about to get very busy.  Glenda hadn't always been strictly honest with me, but she'd always told it to me straight - and so I picked the most nagging question that I was obsessing over at the moment.  "What does the village think?  You know...about me being here."

"Ah, well - "

A group of people came in and we both looked over at the door; the group split into two tables, a middle aged couple settling nearest us and a handful of older women taking a seat toward the back.  Both tables immediately started whispering among themselves and casting what I interpreted as disapproving glances in my direction.

"There ya have it," Glenda said, rolling her eyes.  "The Claighe Judgmental Society has just arrived."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scottish Gaelic to English translation: Brace yourself woman, around here geese cost double.
> 
> *artwork by me


	17. Chapter 17

 

 

**_Na bi a 'breithneachadh gach latha leis a' bhuain a bhios thu a 'buain, ach leis na sìol a chuireas tu_ **

**_Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant_ **

 

 

 

In reality, I'd known it was coming.  I hadn't allowed myself to think about it much on the odd chance it would end up being unnecessary paranoia on my part, and god knew I could always do without more of that than was strictly necessary.  But the second I saw the looks on those womens' faces I knew.  It was right there in the scowls and frowns and raised eyebrows and shaking heads.  They didn't approve of me being here, in their tight knit little village.  They didn't like the idea of me being with King, their somewhat esteemed monarch.  And as their unfriendly gazes fell to my sweet little boy cooing happily in Glenda's lap, completely oblivious to their silent judging, it became obvious immediately that his failure to be either full Scot or Claighe-born was just another thing on their list of unacceptable atrocities linked straight to me.

Glenda was watching me and I knew she knew what I was thinking.

And as usual, she didn't care who heard her address it.

"Don't worry what those tongue waggin' biddies think of you, Molly," she said out loud, not even making any attempt to keep her voice down.  "Their opinions don't matter _now do they?"_   The last bit was said in a voice pitched loud enough for the entire back of the room to hear, and as I was sinking down in my seat I realized Glenda was going to be my only ally until I made some other friends.  And she was a good one to have, no doubt about it.  I adored her, even though she'd told me at the start that King wasn't all there in the head - I'd accepted that she was just trying to protect him and she'd more than made it up to me by keeping me informed of how he was doing while we were apart.  And now that we were together she'd made it clear prior to my arrival that she was in favor of us.

But I couldn't spend all my time hanging out in the tavern so she could defend me.

I knew what I had to do.  I had to meet some new people.  It wasn't something I anticipated having any trouble with - I'd always been a fairly outgoing person and found it easy to approach and talk to strangers, which was one of the reasons I'd been sent out here to work in the first place.

"Are there any book clubs or anything that I could join?"

"Book clubs?"  She shot me a funny look and stared at me for a minute, trying no doubt to figure out if I was joking or not.  "Aye, there's the Claighe Literary Society, but I think you'd probably be banned due to association with King McClary if you tried to join that merry little band of dour faced mudsuckers.  He and Dave MacDale broke up one of their meetins a couple years back and he's not allowed within fifty meters of the library basement now."

"King and Dave started a brawl in a book club meeting?"

"Aye, drunk as shite both of them, as usual.  I didn't witness the event myself but legend has it he and Dave took to tusslin' during a reading by some hoity author bloke from the psych department at Edinburgh University.  Ended up knocking the poor old fellow over a table of biscuits."

I sighed, rubbing my face hard and trying not to give up hope on the first try.  Goddammit King.  "Why is it literally everything he's ever done is prefaced with _'legend has it'?"_

"He's our local color," Glenda laughed, nodding to a group that were seating themselves near the door.  "Try the WI, I wager they'd take you.  Though I'd love to be a fly on the wall during your enrollment interview."

"What's the WI?"

She handed Pod to me and headed back to the bar to wait on two men who were harassing her waitress.  "The Women's Institute.  They do events, hold faires, bake pies, sell calendars, shite like that."  She raised her voice again and stared straight at the table in the back.  _"At least they give out ribbons when they judge."_   Her smile came back quickly and she winked at me.  "You'll be bored to death and endlessly astounded at the depth of pettiness women can get up to when it comes to blackberry jam, but you'll meet some people at least."

 

 

My next few days were spent trying my hardest to be a happy joiner, but it became quickly evident that everyone in Claighe was either suspicious of me or outright thought I had no business being here and had no compunction about showing it.  I'd expected the whole _outsider_ thing to be an issue until they got used to seeing me around, but nothing had prepared me for the sheer level of snobbery that I was met with from everyone ranging from the butcher to the woman sweeping the sidewalk in front of the vet's office.  The vet himself was nice - a tall blonde man named Michael who gave me an immediate and sincere smile and asked if I was King's friend - but he was on his way to one of the farms in a hurry and we didn't get to talk beyond that.

He was the only person I met all that morning who showed me any modicum of friendliness.

I didn't give up, but my dogged determination didn't stop me from crying in front of King when he came down for lunch on the second day of my quest.  I was frustrated and more than a little bit hurt about being turned down for membership in the church baking club because, they told me with a disapproving sneer, I wasn't a member of the congregation.

And so I had inquired about becoming a member.

"Submit your application within three days and the church board will review your request," the woman told me, slapping down a thick stack of papers on the edge of the desk in front of me.  Her eyes had darted from my face down to Pod's and I knew in that moment that I wouldn't fit their criteria.  Because I wasn't married, I was walking around with a baby on my hip without _being_ married, I was living like a kept woman in a house outside of town, and nobody had seen King since my arrival.

No, I wasn't going to be getting into the church _or_ the baking club.

And when King came down off the hill that afternoon to raid my kitchen, he found me sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace playing with the baby and sobbing big loud ugly tears of rejection and hurt pride.  He stood there staring at me uncomfortably for a moment, then came over to us and knelt down to rub Pod's head.  He was silent for a long time, until I finally stopped blubbering enough that he could be heard without raising his voice.

"Is somethin not right Mol?"

I nodded, not even trying to wipe the tears off my cheeks.  He'd have to see me like this sooner or later.

"Nobody likes me here."

He kept his eyes on Pod for a long time, then finally nodded his head and leaned back against the sofa.

"I guess I shoulda warned ya about the villagers," he said quietly, raking his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh.  He was dirty as usual, but seemed to have at least washed his hands before coming into the house.  "They don't take quickly to strangers."

"No, they certainly don't."

"I sorta thought, with you bein friendly like you are, they might take to ya."

"Nope, I can't even join a fucking _pie baking club."_

King flinched; my voice had gotten out of control and my sentence trailed off into a wail that made him and Pod both tilt their heads to one side.  The dog hadn't come in with him or I'm sure she would have made it a threesome.  "And to do half the stuff there is to do in this town you have to be a member of the _church_ and the church _won't take me_ because I'm living in sin and I'm banned from the literary club because you and Dave MacDale knocked somebody into the cookies and the Womens Institute isn't looking all that promising and I don't even know what to tell people when they ask why I'm here!!"

He started to laugh, just for a moment, when I mentioned the literary club - but he went straight faced as soon as I looked at him and god bless him, he tried to put on a sympathetic expression for me.

"Mol, you gotta understand, these are simple folk with arse backward ideas about decency and proper shite.  But you also gotta understand that they don't know you from fuckin William Wallace."

I wasn't about to let him defend the treatment I'd been getting and went straight for the one thing that I knew he'd never allow.

"They keep giving Pod nasty looks, like he's got any control over who he is."

That got his attention.  The famous McClary furrowed-brow scowl immediately hit his face and his voice dropped a menacing octave.  "What's wrong with who he is?"

"Nothing, but they've already got him judged and juried as the unfortunate illegitimate spawn of some unholy immoral alliance between their king and some floozy from somewhere else - "

"Who said that?"

"What?"

"Who said he were an unfortunate illegitimate spawn?"

The edge in his voice was sharp and scary and I remembered what he'd done to Ian for saying something similar.  The last thing I needed was to have King going around town looking for people to punch.

"Well...nobody used those words, exactly...but I can see it in their faces."

He stared at me for a minute, then stared at Pod, and I could tell he was trying to figure something out.  But the look in his eyes was almost like the panic in a trapped animal's eyes, and he finally shook his head like he was going to deny the whole thing.

"Mol, girl...I think you're lettin things get to ya.  Have Glenda talk to Father Keiran at the parrish - "

"No!  I don't want Glenda running interference for me for the rest of my life.  Either you or I have to deal with these people, it's our responsibility and nobody else's."  He was visibly wincing now and I knew my inclusion of him in the dealing-with-people equation was activating his flight response, but he stayed where he sat and just listened to me.  And since he was listening, I kept going.  "And I need to know what our story is going to be.  It's got to be something we agree on and we both have to tell it the same way when we're asked."

"Story?"

"Yes!  Why I'm here!  What do I tell them, King?  Are we getting engaged eventually, are we just domestic partners raising our kid together, what do I say when they stare at my finger and they don't see a ring and immediately start sizing me up for a nice big scarlet A?"

He was frowning now.  I was scared to continue but I knew I had to, and quickly, before he got up and walked out.  _"What do you want me to say to them?"_

The silence was heavy and dark and as I sat there listening to Pod talking to his own foot I knew I wasn't going to get any sort of answer that would satisfy me.  King was staring at his hands and looked like he needed to flee before he either threw up or snapped someone's neck.

And then he looked up at me, and it was obvious why this man, with all his quirks and flaws and supposed shortcomings, was king.

"You tell them to mind their own fuckin business by orders of the goddamn Rìgh."

He stood up, but he didn't leave and I sat there staring at his boots through a muddy haze of hot tears.  He hadn't answered my question.  It was starting to feel like he never would.  But hearing him refer to himself as the king was a shiver-inducing thing, and I couldn't help but feel a little bit turned on by it.

And then he dropped something on my lap and I watched his boots as he walked away.

"Put that on, it should shut their yappy mouths."

 

I waited until I heard the front door shut behind him before I picked it up and looked at it.  It was a little drawstring pouch like men used to carry tobacco in, god knew how many centuries ago.  I was sniffling miserably as I tugged it open and blinked at what fell out on my knee and bounced off onto the floor.

It was a silver ring, shaped like a crown - similar to King's but smaller, more delicately made.  I knew what it was before I even picked it up.

 _The Queen's ring._ Or I assumed so, anyway...if there was a king's ring, there should probably by default be a queen's too.  Now I knew what he'd taken me to Kinrick for, on the first day.

He was getting the ring.

 

I think I might have made a noise like a whale in distress or something similar because Pod jerked in surprise and started to scream.  I rubbed his tummy till he settled to a whimpering fuss and then - in relief or frustration, I had no clue which - I started to laugh. 

"Dylan McClary, my little man...I'd love to be able to tell you your daddy just proposed but honestly I don't think he did."  I stared at the ring for a minute; I wasn't sure which hand I was meant to wear it on, but King wore his on his right, so unless there was some local custom that dictated differently, I knew it wasn't meant for marriage.

But it was something, and it was good enough for now.  It was my way in with the locals, and though I had no plans to waggle my fingers in front of them to prove I was the worthy one, I knew word would get around quickly that I was wearing the Queen's ring and maybe people would start to show, at the very least, some begrudging sort of cockeyed respect.

Because King had chosen _me_ to give the ring to.

I wasn't a mistake he'd made and was now stuck with.  I wasn't some bit of tail he was keeping for when the mood for female company struck him.  I wasn't one of his baby mamas that he was shacking up with part time.

He wasn't hiding me in the little house outside of town.  I was walking around, out in the open, showing his son to anyone who wanted to see him and now wearing his family's ring, a ring I assumed only McClary queens had ever worn.

I slipped it onto my left ring finger without thinking.  It sat snug and comfortable like it had been made for me.  "Huh...will you look at that."  I held my hand up over Pod's face and didn't fail to notice the excited smile that lit his eyes when he focused on the dull silver.

"It fits."

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Image of King by VivianStark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles, please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic. Other images courtesy of the web*


	18. Chapter 18

 

 

**_ Bi slaodach ann a bhith a 'taghadh caraid ach nas slaodaiche ga atharrachadh _ **

**_ Be slow in choosing a friend but slower in changing him _ **

 

 

 

My first act as queen - a thought that made me laugh, although I supposed it _was_ official now since I had the ring - was to suck up my nerve and go back to town and act like I belonged there.  I had a right to join the community since I was going to be a part of it and I decided I wasn't going to get upset with these people anymore...no more having my feelings hurt, no more coming home crying and complaining to King like an eight year old that's been snubbed on the playground.  I was a grown ass adult and if I couldn't join the popular kids' club, I would just find something else to do.  I knew for a fact there were some mothers with young children in the village...some of whom were related to my son, which was weird and potentially uncomfortable but I didn't see why it had to be anything insurmountable.  Making friends with their mothers was a hugely anxiety producing undertaking, but nothing was stopping me from at least bandying around the idea of a mom's group or a playdate circle or something of the sort.

It was worth a try.

And so I went to town and put myself in everyone's faces.  I sat in the coffee shop texting with my cousin Kady, had lunch in the other pub that wasn't Glenda's, got myself a library card and did some reading in the sitting space out front of the library.  Mostly I was met with suspicious glances and some outright uncomfortable stares, but after three days of making myself seen it seemed I was starting to make a crack in the icy wall between myself and the denizens of Claighe.  More than once I noticed eyes falling quickly to my hand and going wide at the sight of the McClary crown; and without fail, the demeanor of whoever was doing the looking quickly changed.

For some, it meant a sudden switch to a sort of chilly politeness that didn't quite seep into friendliness, but it was close enough.  For others, the reaction was less positive.  But for every old woman who glared at me as if I'd stolen the ring off Christa McClary's finger, there was another who acknowledged it with a "Hm...well good for you sweetie" and a pat on the hand before turning their attention to Pod.

It wasn't ideal, but it was something at least.  Like pretty much everything about my life since meeting King.  It was something.

 

 

I was discovering that King was out and about a lot more than I'd thought he would be; he had left early in the morning with the vet to catch some wild dogs that were killing sheep in the outlying hills, but before he'd left he had woken me up for a quick dive between my thighs that left the room spinning and my knees weak and shaky and a stupidly blissed out smile plastered on my face.  He was the first man who'd ever gone down on me - Ian wasn't into it, either giving or receiving - and even though I had zero experience with it outside of King, even I could tell that the sheer skill of that man's mouth was staggering.  It might have taken him a long time to warm up to kissing once upon a time, but his other oral abilities more than made up for it.

Except for talking, the one oral ability he had no skill for.  Conversation was still very lopsided between us, but I was getting better at expressing myself with fewer words and he was getting better at articulating a bit more.  Again, like everything else, it was something.

It would do.

But there was one thing that I desperately wanted him to hear him say, and it was becoming painfully obvious he had no intention of ever saying it.

 

 

I'd been in Scotland for a little over a week when a sobering bit of reality started to set in.  I didn't have much money with me; I'd put my things into storage before I'd left the states, my furniture and the few possessions I hadn't given away, planning to live on my severance from Clendon Williams - or Monarch now, if King was telling it right - but the monthly deposits had suddenly stopped right before I'd left with a registered letter informing me that they would resume once the takeover was settled.  Standard procedure, I knew...but the timing couldn't have been worse, because what I'd had in my pocket on arrival was starting to run thin.  King was keeping the fridge and pantry full, but I didn't know what the arrangements were for the electricity and the car insurance and gasoline - petrol, they called it here, was pricey as hell and it was a long drive to literally everywhere.  And though I knew King had the authority to get my checks coming again, I didn't want to bother him with it.  I'd seen the evidence that business related matters were stressful for him and stressing King out was the last thing I wanted to do when the poor man was trying so hard to wrap his head around me being here, dealing with my nonsense and figuring out how to be a father to Pod while still taking care of all his own work and the things the village required of him.

I'd spent most of my adult life handling my own affairs, I didn't see any reason to stop now just because I was on unfamiliar territory.

And so like the efficient levelheaded city girl I was, I decided I would get a job, find some reliable childcare for Pod that had fewer than four legs, and start being a contributing member of society whether that society wanted me or not.  I wasn't really sure where to start though without heading straight for Glenda, and I was determined not to get into the habit of depending on her for a foot in the door on everything; so when King came down off the hill that morning and started sniffing around in the kitchen, I stood in the doorway bouncing Pod on my hip and waited for him to acknowledge me before I started talking.

"Are there any jobs in the village?"

He stopped digging his fingers into the apple pie I'd made the night before and looked at me.

"Jobs?"

"Yeah, you know - work.  For pay.  I was thinking, I'm a fairly good baker.  Maybe I could get something part time in the bakery?  Or maybe that other pub needs someone to wait the bar on weekends or something."

The look on his face went from confusion to anger in the space of about three seconds.

"Why do you think you need a job?"

I sighed - I'd been half expecting this response from him.  "Because, King, I need things.  I like to pay for my own upkeep and I need money to do that."  His scowl deepened but I kept going, determined not to let him bully me with that angry face.  "I need gas money and diaper money and I'm sure at some point the electric bill is going to show up in the mail, I'd like to do my own grocery shopping and for gods sake you've stolen all my underwear - I just need stuff, King!"

The scowl turned stony and he glared at me like I'd just told him his dog was stupid.

"Ask me, Mol."

"What?"

"Ask me."

"Ask you what?"  I went into the living room to put Pod down on the couch and kept talking to him over my shoulder, trying to ignore that chilling expression in his eyes.  "I gave Ian his ring back but I have a bracelet he gave me, it's got some diamonds on it so I thought I might sell it...is there a pawn shop in town?  Maybe in Glasgow, I bet there's a jeweler there that might give me a bit of what it's worth.  That would keep me going for a little while."

I heard a slam and turned around; King was standing in the kitchen doorway, a dark look of menace sitting firmly on his face now.  His fist was resting against the doorframe and I realized he'd punched the wall beside it.

_"Ask me."_

And it was in that moment that I realized something so desperately important and so blindly obvious that it made me cringe.

He didn't want me supporting myself, and he certainly didn't want Ian supporting me, even in a roundabout way.

He wanted me to need  _him._

And even though my first impulse was to deny him the pleasure of hearing me ask him for more than just the necessities I needed to keep myself and Pod alive, I took a deep breath and swallowed my pride.  He needed this from me.  It was a hard thing for me to allow, but he was finally revealing a little bit of what he wanted our relationship to be like.

He wanted to take care of me and Pod.  He wanted us to depend on him.

The look on his face told me clearly that he wanted it badly.  And as he stood there in silence, unblinking, staring at me so hard that it made me feel shaky in my stomach...I knew he was waiting to see if I was willing to accept his expectations.

It was a start.

"Can I have some money, King?" I said quietly, carefully keeping any hint of defiance out of my voice.  "I need some things."

He stared at me for a moment longer, then nodded his head and turned to go back into the kitchen.

 

 

A few days later Dave MacDale came to my door and handed me my mail, which was mostly a bunch of final utility statements and account closure confirmations with forwarding stamps all over them.  I stared at him for a minute while he stood there barking at Pod until I was about ready to pinch his head off.

"Why are you barking at my child and more importantly _why do you have my mail,_ Dave?"

"Aye?  I'm the postmaster, who else is s'posed ta have it?"  He looked at me like I was stupid and turned around to walk off.  "Oh, and King says to tell ye you've a line of credit at the grocers and he's paid for your petrol for the month.  Must be nice bein' Banrigh."  He did this goofy gunfinger gesture at me while simultaneously winking and making an obnoxious clicking sound with his mouth as he headed back to his truck and started kicking the perpetually stuck door.

My worst fears had just been realized.  Dave MacDale was the postmaster.  The stupidest man I'd ever met was in a position of authority and responsibility and I couldn't even join a Sunday School class.  Either Claighe was desperate or he was some sort of a savant, because I'd never met anyone functioning on fewer brain cells than Dave...and honestly he seemed more intelligent when he was falling down drunk. 

It was all just so damn typical.

As he climbed through the passenger side of his truck and I turned to go back into the house, I heard him yelling at me through the window.

"There's a fuckin huge goose down by the well housing, I'd watch my arse if I were you.  They can be nasty fuckers!"

I didn't bother to wave to him as I shut the door.

 

 

I thought long and hard about some things for the rest of that day and most of the next.  King and I seemed to be playing a back and forth game of _Give Me What I Want_ , and we were both abiding by the unspoken rules for the most part - but it was my turn again and there was an early round he'd weaseled out of, the one where I'd asked him what we were going to present to the locals as a definition of our relationship.  He'd given me the ring, true.  But it wasn't an answer and I still didn't know what it actually meant.  We weren't in the Dark Ages anymore, tossing a ring on a woman's lap wasn't a legally binding marriage in the eyes of God or anyone else and I wasn't going to consider myself engaged until the man put a few simple words together and made it count.

But he'd made it pretty clear he wasn't going to do that.

I wasn't even sure he understood what it meant, to be honest.  And if he did, I knew marriage most likely wasn't something he held in high regard, and he and everyone else seemed to acknowledge the fact that King McClary would never marry.  But the general consensus had also been that he would never raise a family, yet just the previous night he'd come down off the mountain to eat with us and I'd heard him trying to teach Pod to say Da while I was in the bathroom.

It was definitely my turn, and he owed me a second turn for all the evasion.  I'd given him what he wanted by asking him for help and conceding to depend on him when it was completely against my nature to do so.  I was letting him take care of us, strictly because it was what he wanted and had made it clear that he needed.  None of that was easy for me, but I was doing it, and it was only fair that he reciprocate and give me something I wanted and needed in return.

And so I bundled Pod up and put him in the car, and the two of us drove out to a farm on the other side of town that he'd said he would be working at for the afternoon.  It was a long bumpy trip and when we pulled up, cranky and carsick and cursing whichever formative era had made Scotland so damn rocky, I could see him up on the roof of the barn with his back to us, hunched over on his knees and hammering.

"Wish me luck little man," I said to Pod before taking a deep breath and fiddling nervously with the crown ring that was sitting snug on my finger.  "I'm not sure if this is going to do anything except make him call me a caint - "  He scrunched up his little face like he knew what that word meant and I reached back to jiggle his foot.  "Sorry, buddy - but mama's gotta try."

 

He didn't seem to hear me when I walked up, even though I wasn't exactly in stealth mode with my squeaky boots and the distinctly pregnant-walrus method I used to traverse the rocky field to the barn.  I stood there looking up at him for a minute, flinching every time his hammer banged on the roof, until finally I couldn't stand it anymore and started yelling his name.  He still didn't hear me - or else he was ignoring me, which I knew was the likely option - so I picked up a rock and threw it at him.  It bounced off his boot and he looked down at it for a second, then turned around and looked over the edge at me.

"What's your problem woman?"

"I want you to answer me," I yelled up at him.  He cocked his head to one side and by the look on his face I knew this was going to be like pulling teeth.  "I came all this way, I gave up my job and my home and my friends and my life and my goddamn membership at Starbucks to live here sort of near you, the least you can do is tell me what we are!!"

He frowned, but it was more confusion than irritation.  "What we are?"

"Yes!  I don't know what I am and I want to be _something_.  Am I your friend?  Your girlfriend?  Am I your lover or your fiance, what am I?!"

He stared down at me for a second, that confused look still on his face.

"You're Mol."

I think my mouth must have dropped open, but it took all of about five seconds of thinking about it before I realized what he meant.  In King's mind, in his simplistic way of seeing things, there were no sub-categories to people.  They were who they were.  I wasn't anything other than what he knew me as, and that was just Mol.

It was an endearing trait, but it left a lot of wiggle room for specifics.  And specifics were exactly what I needed.  He'd turned back around and was hammering again, so I picked up another rock and hurled it at him.

"Fuck!  Stop throwing rocks you crazy bitch."

"Listen to me!"

He stopped hammering and turned around again, obviously annoyed now.

 _Do it Molly.  Don't chicken out or he's just going to start hammering again and this conversation will be over._ Sucking in a deep breath, I cleared my throat and fixed him with what I guessed would be my most determined stare, though I doubted it carried much real weight...but I wasn't about to lose my courage now, not after that bumpy drive, not after all I'd gone through in the last year to be near this man.

"Will you marry me?"

He was still holding his hammer, that annoyed look now joined by a raised eyebrow that usually implied he'd already had enough of me but that seemed, this time, to indicate that he simply didn't understand.  "What?"

"Will. You. Marry. Me."

There was a long minute where he just stared at me, then shrugged and took the nail out of his mouth.  "Aye, I suppose, if ye want."  And then god help me if that ridiculous man didn't turn around and go right back to hammering.

I stood there for a second, shocked or amazed, I had no idea which and I wasn't about to try to analyze it.  He hadn't said no and I felt like I should make a run for it before he had a minute to realize what he'd just agreed to.

_He didn't say no._

Maybe it wasn't the proposal I'd always dreamed of, but he hadn't said no.  That was the best I knew I could get out of him...and like it had been since the very beginning of our relationship, it was enough.

 

I got back in the car and drove home, realizing about halfway there that I'd just asked King to marry me while he was fixing a hole in someone's barn roof, and it hadn't seemed the least bit out of the ordinary.

Apparently, this was life now.

_Welcome back to Scotland, Molly._

 

 

_To be continued..._

 


	19. Chapter 19

 

 

 

**_Bidh cunnart agus toileachas a 'fàs air aon stal_ **

**_Danger and delight grow on one stalk_**  

 

 

 

When he came in that evening, he started to flop down on the sofa and I just happened to turn around and see him before he did it.  "No no no no no no!  Do not sit!"

He stood there staring at me like I was crazy.

"Why?"

"Not on the sofa, not in those filthy clothes.  And why are your boots still on?  At the door, take them off at the door."

His head was cocked to one side like a dog being scolded for something they can't comprehend, when they know they're in trouble but don't know what they did wrong.  I started shooing him toward the door and he went obediently, pulling his boots off near the mud mat.  Close but not _quite_ where they belonged, and I sighed in exasperation - King would never respect the sanctity of the mudless domain but I could be every bit as stubborn as him if I chose to be.  I hadn't come to Scotland to spend the rest of my life mopping up behind him.

"Take your clothes off and - wait, no not  _here,_  go in the bathroom and take them off, drop them on the floor by the sink, and take a shower."

I couldn't tell what was going through his head right that moment, but judging by the look on his face it was likely a tossup between utilizing some colorfully appropriate Gaelic epithets or just throwing me over the arm of the sofa and whipping me with his belt.  But there was something in that look that kept me from being too worried for my own safety, firstly because despite his sometimes rough touch he had never been violent with me...and secondly because I'd seen that look before.  It was the look he got when I was on his last nerve, but that last nerve was a direct line to his cock.

"Is this what it's goin'ta be like?" he asked, glaring at me around a half hidden grin.  "Bein married to ya?  If you think you're gonnae boss me I think I might have summat ta' say about that."

There was a really long, tense moment where we stood there staring at each other without either of us saying anything - and then he suddenly went to the door and started to undress while continuing to stare at me, dropping his clothes on top of his boots and finally standing there completely, boldly, bare ass naked.  There was a challenge glinting in his eyes as his kilt hit the floor and I understood immediately what was going on.

He was simultaneously obeying and defying me, probably just because he could.

"Yeah, and that's the good news," I stuttered, averting my eyes just long enough to realize it was no use.  Pod was already asleep and all I wanted to do was climb this man like a tree, but I had some things that needed saying first and I knew if I got within King's long reach I would be a goner and not a word of it would _get_ said until some point the following day.  So I stayed by the sofa, trying hard not to look below his shoulders as he stood there in all his long, lithe, tattooed and rough hewn glory.  It wasn't easy.  He'd put on a few pounds and wasn't the same lean catlike figure I was used to.  He was bulkier, thicker in the arms from chopping a winter's worth of wood for who knew how many of the villagers, and a little stouter around the middle thanks to all the pies and cakes I knew the old folks paid him with.  And dear god it looked good on him.

I didn't realize just how hard I was staring at him until he spoke again and his voice made me jump.

"You gonna tell me the bad news or are ye goin'ta stand there seein how wet yer knickers can get b'fore they hit the floor?"

"What?  Oh, no - "  He tipped his head in that _I don't believe a word you're saying_ way that always kept me from fibbing and I immediately stopped my feeble attempt at denying it, the hot flush that had started in my cheeks crawling slowly down my neck.  "Well yeah, that too, but I wanted to talk to you about today.  Specifically our conversation when you were on the roof.  The one where...you know...dear god could you put your clothes back on?"

"The one where I said I'd wed ye."

"Yeah, that one."  I felt the flush in my cheeks spreading to my ears but kept looking at him, afraid to lose eye contact lest I look back and find his interest had moved on to something else.  He was staring at me so hard that my hands started to shake.

"Did you change your mind?"

"What?"

"Thought about it on yer way home, realized I'm not the marryin' type?"

"No, no not at all - I just - I wanted to make sure you were listening and knew what we actually said, because you were hammering and it was, like, really high up there - I need you to at least put the kilt back on."

"Mol, I gave you me answer and I meant it."

"Okay."  I nodded nervously and finally pulled my eyes away while he just continued standing there staring at me, and even though he wasn't making a move toward me it felt uncomfortably like he was invading my personal space with just that look.  And he wasn't putting anything back on.  "So...you actually _do_ want to get married - ?"

"It makes no nevermind to me, Mol."  He pointed toward my hand, at the crown ring.  "I've claimed you and Pod, you're both McClarys, not that that means anythin.  If you need more to make it real in your head, then get yerself a dress and tell me where I need to be on the day."

 _It makes no nevermind to me._   That was the yes I was looking for, or as close to it as I was going to get.  But the _you're both McClarys_ part was what was making my stomach feel all tense with excitement.  Pod was legally a McClary on his birth certificate because that was the name I'd given him when he was born, but I was still a Thompkin because King hadn't given his name to me.  But apparently that had changed without me realizing it. _You're both McClarys._

I knew King saw things in a different way than everyone else and it wasn't surprising to me that the actual act of marriage meant less to him than the act of throwing a family heirloom at me.  He'd already made the commitment in his head and - I assumed - in his heart.  Getting married was just something I wanted to show everyone else what we'd already decided wordlessly between us.  What I'd decided long ago and he had decided...when exactly?  The day he saw our child on the ultrasound screen at the clinic?  The first time he'd kissed me, in the parking lot outside the pub?  Or was it signed and sealed for him the moment he dropped the ring in my lap?

It really didn't matter.

We were together.

It was more than enough.

"Can I get off the rug now?"

I'd forgotten I had banished him to the mud mat in front of the door and looked up, followed by a quick look away when I saw he was grinning, not making any attempt to cover his very naked self and the fact that he was  _very_ obviously aroused.

"Um...yeah.  If you'll go take a shower I'll make you some dinner."

I meant to punctuate my intent with a definitive move toward the kitchen, but somehow it didn't work out quite like that.  Somehow it worked out _entirely_ different than I intended and either I moved toward him or he moved toward me, or maybe we both took a few steps toward each other...whatever happened it happened quick, and before I had time to figure out whose fault it was we were in each other's arms and going at each other, all hard hot kisses and growling - someone was growling, though I had no idea which of us it was - and then he hefted me up onto his hips and headed toward the bedroom with me.

"No!  No no no, not the bedroom, Pod is asleep!"

There was another growl - definitely him this time - and when he leaned over the sofa with me hanging off his front I felt our brains click into a common mindset and I reached down to grab the blanket that was crumpled on the cushions.  A quick turn and three long strides later I was dropping it in front of the fireplace and he was laying me down on it, kneeling down between my raised knees to gnaw at the crotch seam of my blue jeans with his teeth.  It made me laugh, the way he seemed to have learned everything he knew from the animals on his little farm...I'd seen the sheep chew on fence posts the same way he was chewing on my pants, the gigantic horse that lived in his barn had a disturbingly familiar way of narrowing its eyes and lowering its head right when it was about to ram its skull into something that was annoying it, and the big hairy cow with the devil horns not only could stare a hole through your head without ever blinking, I'd seen it try to mount the back of King's jeep at least once without any concern for the fact that it was a different species entirely.

I supposed the similarities weren't too terribly unusual for a boy who'd grown up more in the company of animals than humans.

As he peeled my jeans slowly down my legs and lowered himself onto me to begin rubbing lazily against the lace of my panties, I tangled my hands in his unruly windblown hair and nuzzled my face against his beard.  I was starting to love the way it felt against my skin and wondered just briefly if the sensory enjoyment I got from it was anything like what he felt when he...well, when he did what he was doing right that moment, pushing his swollen cock up under the front of my undies while he slid his hands under me to twist the silky fabric around his fingers.  The groan that came from his throat was deep and dangerous and I knew all the way to the bottom of my soul that King McClary was and always would be a wild thing I could never tame.

And I didn't want to.

Not anymore.

Maybe once upon a time I'd entertained the idea of domesticating him, but those days were long behind us and I'd written them off as the naive fantasy of a girl who'd been living by someone else's rules for far too long.  We had our own rules now, me and King.  And rule number one was _no making house cats out of cave men._

I was going to do just like he said and get myself a dress, find us a place to get married, and tell him when to be there.  Because in the end, that was all I really wanted or needed him to do.  Just be there.

 

 

I guess it was no more than a week later I got a phone call that pretty much set the precedent for what life as the so-called queen of Claighe was going to entail for me.  King had given me permission to tell whoever I wanted about the impending wedding, and word had exploded like a gasoline fire through the little village and the outlying areas as soon as Dave MacDale overheard me telling Glenda in the pub that we were going to need a community center or the back room of the library or something, since the church had essentially slammed its door in my face when I'd tried to join the congregation.  And suddenly I had people treating me differently - the Womens Institute finally approved my supposedly long lost application and sent me an invitation to enter whatever talents I had in the upcoming village faire, the librarian asked me if I'd be interested in helping arrange an essay reading by some of the local school kids, and a woman who I strongly suspected was one of King's progeny bearers invited me to a mom's day out sort of thing that apparently happened every Wednesday at the other pub.  And even though most of the residents still kept their distance or remained outright chilly in their interactions with me, there _were_ finally interactions.  It was like a do-over to the rocky start I'd gotten, and it felt kind of nice even though it was obvious I still had a very long way to go before being fully accepted.

It was a start.  And I sort of owed it to Dave's big mouth, though I wasn't about to thank him for it because I was still salty over what he'd said about my backside the second time I'd met him and I felt like he owed me this much, despite King having handed him his own backside immediately afterward.  But regardless of what kickstarted it, I finally had my foot in the door and was feeling a bit euphoric about it all.  So when the phonecall came and I heard the chief constable's cheerfully thick brogue greeting me, I didn't think for a second to assume the worst.

As it was, it _wasn't_ the worst - but it was close enough.

"I'm sorry ta inconvenience ya Molly but you need to come and get King."

My heart dropped into my stomach.

"Why, where is he?"

"In jail."

It wasn't ideal, but it wasn't the morgue either so I was willing to take it.  And so my initiation began, as I grabbed my son up and shoved him into his snowsuit and slipped and fell on the icy ground twice on my way to the car.  It seemed a bit odd to me that a town could lock up its own ruling monarch, but I'd seen King drunk and I'd seen him in a brawling mood, and both were conditions you didn't want to leave him in unsupervised.  He was unpredictable when he was sober and outright dangerous when he wasn't - a cell was probably the safest place to have him when he was misbehaving and I felt pretty sure that the town of Claighe was well aware of it.  The constable hadn't elaborated on the charges but I'd heard Dave MacDale's distinctly hyena-ish laugh in the background and knew in my heart this couldn't be good if it involved the two of them.

But apparently nobody was dead and there were no calls coming from the hospital, so I crossed my fingers for a drunk and disorderly and slid down off the mountain on a sheet of ice that even the chains on my tires could barely handle.

 

"Molly Thompkin - uh, McClary... _Thompkin,"_   I stammered stupidly, realizing I sounded like I might be in need of a cell myself.  My tongue was getting in my way and I was far more nervous than I probably needed to be, but the fact that I was the one they'd called was solidly driving home the fact that people were figuring things out and accepting them, for better or worse.  "I'm here to get King."

The woman behind the glass stared at me for a minute, apparently confused until her gaze trailed down to my hand and locked onto the crown ring.  Her eyes shot back to my face and she squinted, obviously trying to decide whether I was pretty enough for their local royalty.  I don't know if I passed muster or not, but she finally nodded toward the adjoining hallway and said "He's in the chief's office, you can go on in."

"Thanks."

"Molly!  Wait, I'll go with you."

I turned around to see Glenda coming toward me, an angry look on her face that told me she'd been the one they'd called to come get King in the past and that it was something that happened far too often for her to see the humor in it anymore.  She rushed past me toward an office at the end of the hall and I just followed silently without any idea what I was about to walk into.  She knew her way around and I was afraid to ask how many times she'd had to make this walk before King's to-be-notified contact had been updated to my number.

"Dumb shites," she was muttering as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

 

An older gentleman with a somehow simultaneously cheerful and grumpy face was sitting on the edge of a desk in the corner of the office, facing two men seated in metal chairs in front of him.  It was disconcertingly like walking into the principal's office during a disciplinary lecture with two boys who'd been caught setting off cherry bombs in the locker room.

The constable and Dave both turned to look at us as we entered.  The third man - King - didn't move.

"D'you think you boys could maybe behave yourselves just long enough for us ta get the Faire done and finished b'fore you tear down half the village?" the chief asked them with a distinct note of frustration in his voice that sounded like he'd had this conversation far too many times.  Dave looked at King; King was sharpening his knife on the leather strap he wore tied around his wrist and never looked up.  Dave giggled and leaned back in his chair.

"I'm gonna go with a no on that one, Constable."

The old man sighed and turned his attention to King.  "Thomas, I were under the impression that you'd calmed a bit since becomin' a family man.  Can I lay a bit 'o hope on you settlin' some?"

King continued sharpening his knife, shaking his head like he was completely disinterested in the entire proceeding.  Dave spoke for him again.  "Nossir, no improvement, gettin worse ev'ry day."

I tried not to laugh but failed miserably and Glenda slapped me on the arm.  The Constable looked at me.

"You'll be takin'im straight home, am I right Missus?"

"Straight home, right."

"And can Dave here hitch a ride with you as well?"

"I'll take him home," Glenda interrupted, shooting Dave a nasty look that made him drop his head but didn't stop him from giggling behind his hand.  "I'm passin by his place on me way out anyways."

The Constable looked at the two men for a long minute, pure exasperation scrawled all over his face.  He was old and weathered and it was obvious this wasn't the first time - or even the dozenth time - that Thomas McClary and Dave MacDale had sat unrepentant in his office for crimes and misdemeanors that should have landed them both in a cell overnight.  With a nod he finally dismissed them both and King stood up, tucking his knife back into his kilt and looking at me with no expression at all on his face until his eyes settled on Pod.  He reached out to lay a hand on the baby's head and I noticed his lip was bleeding.

"What did you two do?" I demanded, more from Dave than from King since he obviously wasn't in the mood to talk.  There was a distinctly unsteady sway to Dave's step as he headed the wrong way down the hall and was yanked back by Glenda's hand on his collar.

"Nothin.  Just havin a few pints since, you knows, he's getting married an' all."

"You don't go to jail for a few pints Dave MacDale, you go to jail for whatever ye did _after_ the pints and since I'm the one who served 'em to ya I'm curious to know what the pair of ye got up to after you left."  Glenda was just inches away from his face and glaring at him and I realized with amusement that she was about four inches taller than him.  He seemed to respect her and it was obvious she'd made a believer out of him at some point in his life.

"We may have started a fire, or summat like that."

"A fire."

"Aye...you know the tree?"

Glenda groaned and looked over at me and King; she pointed at him like she was going to light into him, but ended up just giving Dave a shove to get him moving toward the exit again.  "So the two of ye set fire to the yule tree again.  Goddammit Dave, they just got that thing set up yesterday.  How many years does this make now, you dumb arses?"

"Eleven," Dave said proudly.

"And how many times have you been arrested for it?"

"Nine.  Two years back we pinned it on Colin McElhaney an he were too drunk ta' deny it."

"What about the other time?"

"Oh we got caught wit' the petrol, but King refused to get in the chief's car.  He walked halfway to the sliabh leadin' the cow we stole from Mavis Trelawny wit' us drivin along slow behind him till finally Dunn tells me ta get out and says he'll just arrest us in the mornin."  He shrugged, which sent him off balance into a bulletin board on the wall.  "He must'a forgot."

While this was all terribly entertaining and more than just a little bit enlightening, I wasn't entirely sure what I should take away from it - obviously King and Dave were idiots when they were together and seemed to share a hive brain when drunk, but I'd only ever seen them beating each other up and had, till this moment, assumed they hated each other's guts.

"Are you guys best friends or something?"

"Well ye dunnae torch the yule tree with just anyone now do ye?"

I didn't know the answer to that - I didn't even know what a yule tree was, to be honest - but King was already out the main door with Pod so I hurried ahead to catch up with him.  As we passed the open cells on our way out, Glenda tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the far wall over the creaky looking cot in cell number two where King's name was etched into the stone, probably with the knife I'd just watched him put in his pocket.  There was a line under it and a series of dates ranging all the way back to 1990.

"You've got to be kidding me."

She offered me a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder as Dave tumbled out the door ahead of us.

"I'm just glad it's you that has to come get him now."

 

It was starting to snow and I tugged on King's arm to make him stop so I could put Pod's hood up; he was fussing about the cold snowflakes hitting his face when I saw a woman past King's shoulder, coming toward us with a little dark haired girl hiding shyly behind her.  She must have been about five and she smiled up at King when he turned to look at her.

"Meghan," he said quietly to the woman, a note of surprise in his voice as his eyes darted around the parking lot like he was looking for someone else.  I noticed his shoulders tensed and he seemed suddenly very sober and on alert.  "Are you alright?"

She nodded, staring at Pod in King's arms with a pained look on her face.  "Aye, for now.  The yule tree's on fire, did you do that?"

Dave busted up laughing and Glenda slapped him in the back of the head, shushing him harshly as she pulled him away from us; it was obvious she knew this wasn't their business and I could hear her telling Dave she was going to kill him with the service end of a spatula if he didn't shut up and behave for once.  King nodded to the woman, crouching down to get on eye level with the little girl.  "Are you okay Ella?"

The girl nodded, reaching out to touch her fingertip to Pod's nose.  "You're real."

"King, I'm sorry to do this to ye, I heard ye were to be wed soon an' all - "  Meghan looked at me and then just as quickly looked away, and I noticed in the failing early evening light that she looked like she'd been crying.  "But...I'm gonna need ta talk to you.  Soon."

King looked up and stared at her for a long moment, then reached out and put his hand on the little girl's head.  And in that simple little gesture it all became clear to me.  He touched Pod that way, and I'd seen him touch Fiona's baby - his baby - the same way.

Ella's dark hair and big soulful eyes were suddenly very familiar.

"Are ye safe tonight?" King asked quietly, holding his hand out palm up till Ella laid hers on top of it.  Meghan was starting to look around nervously and nodded.

"Aye, he's gone to Aberdeen til Wednesday."

"Then get the bairn home and call me in the morn."

 

King watched them until they were in their car and gone, then took me by the arm and started to rush me to ours.  I didn't protest, I didn't even say a single word - the look on his face had gone from blank and unconcerned to something frighteningly like a barely contained rage, and I didn't want to be the one to set him off.  But as he was buckling Pod into his seat in the back I heard Dave calling out a giggly goodnight to us, followed by the slapping sound of Glenda hitting him and telling him to shut up.

"What?  It's no my fault Ella's da is a fucktwat.  Poor kid would be better off wit' her real da and Bolly.  Sally.  That woman over there.  G'nite Marley!"

I waved out the window to them and sat silently as King got into the car; he sat there for a minute, just staring at his hands on the steering wheel, not saying anything or acknowledging that I was even there.  And then he slowly reached over and held his hand out the same way he'd done to Ella, with his palm up, and I laid mine on top of it.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King by myself and @vivianstark exclusively for the McClary Chronicles, please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	20. Chapter 20

 

 

 

 

**_Coimhead às dèidh nan cearcan agus bidh na notaichean a 'coimhead às an dèidh fhèin_ **

**_Look after the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves_ **

 

 

 

King had already started the car when I realized I should be the one driving - he'd obviously sobered up quickly but he didn't argue when I got out and came around the driver's side to knock on the window and motion for him to get out.  He still had that angry look on his face and I knew there was a story behind the scene I'd just witnessed, but I wasn't about to ask for it until I had him home and knew what sort of mood he was going to be in.  If I pushed him and he wasn't in the mood to be pushed, there was no doubting he'd kick the back door open and be gone up the hill before I could convince him to stay.  I didn't even believe he would skulk off to the barn for the night...he'd get as far away from me as he could get, and in the morning he would take care of whatever business he had with Meghan and I wouldn't find out about any of it until later.

I wasn't about to take that risk, because I was dying to know what the hell had just happened.  I was assuming his jeep was still wherever he and Dave had been arrested, so escape from me wouldn't be easy; but he'd proven once before that he wasn't the least bit afraid to hike up the mountain on foot in the middle of the night to get away from my questions.  And so I vowed to myself to hold my tongue, and as I watched him walk around the front of the car in the bright glow of the headlights with the increasingly heavy snow fluttering down on him, all I could think of was how glad I was that he hadn't moved to the States to be with me.  It was a bit off subject, but something about the way he looked, so rugged and tough and undeniably _male,_ pulled my brain right off the moment at hand and drove home to me that things had worked out the way they were meant to.  This was where he belonged, in this cold, rough place.  It suited him.  He had his coat on, but it was open and though smoke was billowing from his mouth as he breathed, it was oddly apparent that the frigid chill didn't bother him.  The things that anyone else would find uncomfortable and unwelcoming about the terrain and the weather were things that he barely noticed.  His cheeks might be red and frost be forming on his eyelashes, but he would stand in the cold all night to look after a sick sheep or jump into an icy creek to retrieve a clumsy lamb from the freezing water without ever acting like any of it was even remotely unpleasant for him.

I could barely even breathe the cold air, much less work outside in it all day.

No, he belonged here.  This was his home.  It was as much a part of him as his green eyes and his surly nature, and splitting the two up would be a sacrilege.  I'd done the right thing by coming to him instead of making him come to me.

And now I just needed to figure out a non-intrusive way to get him to explain to me what I'd just witnessed, and I didn't mean the seven-stories high flames that I could see through the windshield as we pulled out of the station parking lot.

"That tree is well and truly screwed," I said quietly.  "Did it have it coming?"

King stared out the window for a few seconds, watching the fire lick the darkening sky in the distance.  The tree was so tall that the flames were visible over the tops of several blocks of buildings that led to the downtown square.  He finally turned his head and looked at me.

"Aye."

That was all he said, just _Aye._   I couldn't imagine what a fifty foot tall tree had ever done to him, but I was willing to believe there was valid bad blood between them just from the conviction in that single word.

"Fair enough," I said as he scooted down in his seat, laying his head back like he was suddenly tired clear down to his soul.  And all the way back to the sliabh I obsessed over two things while he napped, one of which I wasn't very proud of...the first being the fact that Ella looked like a little female clone of him, and the second being that Meghan looked like something out of a Face of Chanel campaign.  It shook me right down to my previously uncomplicated, unenvious, uncontentious heart, waking up something I'd never really felt before.

I knew it was jealousy.  I also knew it was pointless because King was marrying me, just as soon as I found a place for it to happen.  But I couldn't stop thinking of the way he had instantly looked around with a sudden dangerous rage in his eyes, like he would have thrown a beating to whoever it was he thought would be there, to protect this woman and the little child hiding behind her.

A child that was obviously his.

Yep, I was jealous.  And no matter how stupid it was, it sat there in my gut churning and burning, reminding me bitterly that regardless of the probably impersonal nature of their no doubt brief coupling, she had slept with King.

I didn't like the way that made me feel.

At _all._

 

 

I half expected him to head out back to his own place as soon as we got home, but once he'd walked us inside and started a fire he sat down on the sofa and laid his head back, eyes closed, holding Pod on his chest while I made us some coffee.  I watched him for a minute to see if he was going to get up, and when he didn't I made up my mind - if he was going to stick around I was going to get an explanation of what that scene with Meghan was all about.  I'd figured out on my own that Ella was definitely his, there was no doubting that just by merit of simple proof of genetics; but I'd been under the impression that he had nothing to do with the mothers after he'd fulfilled his siring duties, and the way he and Meghan talked to each other made it clear the there was a far more accurate truth to it.

I sat down across from him and waited for him to open his eyes.

He didn't, so I tapped his knee with my foot.  He'd taken his boots off at the door and I decided that was as good a way as any to break the ice between us, since he'd been a good boy and remembered - and respected - my rule on the mudless domain.

"Thank you.  For not tracking the floor up."

He opened one eye and looked at me.

"Pine pitch and petrol are hard to clean up."

"Yeah, I imagine they are."

We sat there in sort of an awkward silence for what felt like several minutes until I couldn't stand it anymore.  My coffee was getting cold in my hand and I sat it down, banging it on the coffee table more loudly than was strictly necessary in a feeble attempt to get his attention fully on me and what I was about to ask.  But I didn't know how to word what I wanted to say, and after stumbling a bit over the beginning of my sentence I finally sighed and just went for the point blank approach.

"Ella is yours, I know that.  But I thought you didn't have anything to do with them or their mothers after - after, _you know."_

He pulled his head up and stared at me for a long time, and I swear there was something like a dark, mean spirited mischief sparking dangerously in his eyes.  _Shit, he knows I'm jealous and no way in hell is he going to let that go unmocked._

"You worried I'm fuckin' Meghan Campbell?"

Ugh, why did he always have to be like that.  "No, I'm not - I just - what was all that about?  I wouldn't ask, you know I wouldn't, but you're..."  I stopped myself right there, knowing that if the next words actually made it out of my mouth I was going to die of shame.

They didn't have to make it out of my mouth.  They came out of King's.

"But I'm your man now and you have the right to know why a woman I fucked is asking me for help."

My face was so hot I felt like I was having a stroke, but I looked away and nodded, maybe a bit too emphatically.  "Yes.  Is she married?  What's she coming to you for?  We were in the parking lot of the police station, why didn't she just go inside and file a report if she's having some kind of trouble?  You asked the baby if she was okay so obviously you know more about them than someone who doesn't associate with them should know."

I was talking fast and not putting my sentences together very well and it came out a bit twisted there at the end, but King just sat there watching me rattle with something almost like a comically alarmed look on his face.  I imagined it to be the inner expression a dog gets when it's figured out the source of the whistle but it just won't stop whistling.  I took a deep breath and cleared the tremor from my voice before I tried speaking again...and when I did, my voice came out all wrong, all accusatory and angry.  "So what _are_ you to them, other than a sperm donor?"

That was wrong, so very very wrong...and then in the few seconds of silence after I stopped talking, I realized what my own voice had been drowning out, that oddly droning  background sound that I hadn't been paying attention to.  King was mumbling quietly to himself, it was almost inaudible but now that I was aware of it I could hear it clearly.  He was talking to himself in Gaelic and my heart about broke when it occurred to me that he was staying, sitting still and listening, even though I was doing the very thing he couldn't handle.  I was yammering at him nonstop, fairly loudly there toward the end - asking him questions and making only dubious sense.  The poor man was probably screaming inside his own head but he was controlling it enough to just sit there with that pained look on his face, waiting patiently for me to stop talking while he repeated something to himself over and over so that he could deal with the sensory onslaught of me, the person who was supposed to understand him, aurally abusing him.

I wanted to cry.  I hadn't meant to be abusive but there it was, in his barely controlled coping, in that strange look in his eyes and the stiff posture and the one leg that was tucked back, like he was ready to bolt straight up off the couch and head for the door the first moment an opportunity presented itself.  But he was still holding Pod, and I wondered if maybe the little man's heartbeat against his chest wasn't the one thing that was keeping him calm.

I lowered my voice right the hell down.

"I'm sorry, King.  I'm so sorry.  You don't have to talk, you can go if you need to." 

"Meghan's man is shite" he said abruptly, as if I hadn't just put him on overload and he'd simply been waiting for me to let him speak.  "I dun'nae know if he hurts her but I know she's no happy with him.  She asked me mebbe a year ago if I'd be willin' to take Ella for a bit so she'd be safe, if it ever come to that."

The calm in the beginning of his words wasn't there at the end, replaced with a rising tone of anger that told me the situation was probably far worse than I could imagine.  I wanted to reach for his hand but kept myself from touching him.  "Oh my god.  You think he abuses them?"

"I dunno, but he's a fuckin caint an' the world would'nae miss him if he were ta meet a messy end."  He scrubbed his face with one hand and sat up on the edge of the sofa, scooping Pod off his chest and handing him to me.  "I've always told her aye, I'd take her.  She has'nae other kin."

"Do you think that's what she's going to call you about, in the morning?"

He nodded, staring down at his socks for a long time before finally looking up at me.  "Can ye live wit' that, Mol?"

I didn't even think about my answer, about the jealousy I'd so stupidly let get the better of me.  I knew what the answer was and it just came out of my mouth without my brain having anything to do with it.

"Of course I can.  You tell her to bring that baby over if she needs to.  And if she needs a safe place herself for a day or two, there's plenty of room in this house."

It was in that moment that the extra room at the end of the hall, across from my bedroom, suddenly made sense.  It was unfurnished except for a small bed and a wooden chest with blankets in it.  Small enough for a child...was it for Pod to move into once he was a toddler, like I'd assumed, or was it meant for someone else entirely...?

The possibility that King had made a space for one of his other children stirred up all kinds of confusing things in me.

_I don't do daddy._

To borrow his own words - that was total shite.

But oh my god, it set me on fire and it was all I could do to excuse myself to put Pod in his crib and get hold of my emotionally horsewhipped libido before I lost control of myself and jumped in his lap.  Because quiet heroes had always been my thing, and the man sitting on my sofa seemed like he would look pretty damn good in a mask.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of Molly and King by myself and @vivianstark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles, please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist(s) and a link back to this fic*


	21. Chapter 21

 

 

 

**_ Faodaidh uisge aodach a ghlanadh, ach bidh teine a 'glanadh sin _ **

**_ Water may clean linen, but fire purges sin _ **

 

 

 

With the baby put to bed, I considered my options.  King was still on the couch, stretched out with his head back like he was asleep, but I had the sneaking suspicion he was just in his quiet place doing the self soothing thing and that he was aware of every move I made.  But he didn't seem to have any intention of leaving, which I was glad for because I wanted the company, _his_ company, and there were questions I desperately wanted answered.

But mostly the company thing.

I figured I could either take a shower and go to bed and leave him to decide if he wanted to come join me later, or go back out there and try to seduce him - not normally advisable so soon after a tense situation, but I was having a seriously hard time getting my need for him under control.  The whole shock and jealousy thing concerning Meghan and Ella already had me a bit high strung, so the quick flash of desire he'd triggered in me with his _I'm going to protect them but I need to know you're okay with it first_ revelation was now settling in next to that.  It was taking over, and it was bad.

I wanted him.  In me, on me, under me, I didn't care so long as something of him was inside me somewhere.  But I knew he probably wasn't in the right mindset for such things, and no matter how badly I wanted it, the fear of pushing him into overload was enough to make me drop it.

But _god_ I wanted him.

_Do NOT stress that man, he's been through enough tonight._

I was considering my next option - which involved the shower head and my hand over my mouth - when my phone jingled and up popped a single text from Glenda.

_You might want to see this._

I clicked the video play button before I could talk myself out of it in favor of showering first and sat down on the end of the bed; the first thing to pop onto my screen was the back of King's head, his shaggy black hair dotted with snowflakes and blowing in the wind as he shouted something in Gaelic.  I could hear Dave MacDale laughing and realized he was the one doing the filming.  There were several seconds of the camera bouncing around like Dave was dancing, with King coming in and out of the frame like a DVD with someone hitting the skip button; first he was standing there with his back to the camera, then he was bending over, then he was holding a big red spouted can and throwing it at the tree in front of him.  After pausing for a moment to take a piss on the tree while Dave cackled with glee, there was suddenly a flicker of orange light flashing across the screen...and then the camera stopped moving enough for everything to come into focus.

There were maybe four or five long seconds before anything happened - and then there was an explosion, a loud _HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!_ from Dave, and the entire sky around King went up in flames.

And so the yule tree bit the dust for the twelfth time, its demise triggered by a wall of climbing flames that engulfed the entire gigantic thing in a matter of seconds.  The King of Claighe stood there with his arms up, so close to the raging fire that it looked like he was standing right in the big middle of it as Dave hooted and danced around, the picture bobbing and blurry again until he fell down and apparently decided to film the rest sitting on his ass on the ground.

Spellbound by the oddly ritualistic yet comic spectacle of my lover committing criminal mischief with such a hypnotic singlemindedness, my head finally recovered its thought processes and something started to dawn on me.  Though King was standing within touching distance of the flames, it didn't look like the popping rain of sparks were coming anywhere near him.  And now that I thought about it, he didn't smell like smoke, or burnt pine, or even the gasoline that he'd doused the trunk of the tree with.  I hadn't smelled it on him in the close proximity of the car and I hadn't caught a whiff of it on his clothes while I was sitting right across from him in my livingroom.  I'd smelled something overwhelmingly like scorched pine all over Dave as we were walking down the hall at the station, and at the time I had assumed it was coming from both of them.  But King smelled just like he always did, like black dirt and leather and the inoffensive dried sweat of a day's hard work.

He could have very well not been there at all, judging by the lack of physical evidence on him.  Dave even had smudges of black soot on his face.  King didn't.  But I was watching him, he was _definitely_ there...and I couldn't deny one slightly embarrassing fact, that this poorly filmed little bit of video was making me fidget uncomfortably.  I'd already been in the mood to climb into his lap before.  Now it was all I could do to stay in the bedroom with a closed door between us.

I watched as King dropped his head back and screamed something toward the sky that I couldn't make out over the crackling roar of the inferno in front of him, and in those few seconds of listening to him shout and watching him stand there, lost in whatever the hell he was doing and completely oblivious to the waves of heat that Dave was now audibly complaining about, it felt like I was looking at something not of this world.  Like one - or all - of the old McClary kings had risen for a moment and taken over his body, or maybe one of the ancient heathen gods he'd talked about, the ones that had roamed the land in search of mischief so long ago.

I didn't have any trouble believing it was one or the other, or possibly both.

And then the sound of sirens from far away, and Dave laughing as he yelled to King that their ride was here.

 

I didn't know what Glenda expected me to do with this.  I sorta wanted to masturbate to it though I doubted that was why she sent it to me.  But it told me a few things about the man I was about to marry, things I had never known or would have ever guessed.  I knew he could be rowdy but I had no clue he could take such glee in reverting to rebellious teen behavior.  I knew he had little respect for rules and social expectations, but this blatant disregard for the law and the whole repeat offender thing was funny and sort of ridiculously sexy.  But it also looked like he'd known what he was doing in a way that Dave was oblivious to, like he had a _purpose,_ and I wondered if the whole thing had always been King's doing and Dave had simply tagged along because he had nothing better to do.

So many questions triggered by one pointless act of arson.

But something was tugging at the back of my mind, a memory from a year ago that seemed to fit into it all.

 

He was still looking very much asleep when I went quietly back into the living room.  It felt a little bit silly, but I wanted to get a look at his boots.  Several times during the blizzard when we'd been snowbound in his cabin together I had seen him shove his feet into the fireplace, and his boots never did more than flame up a little and then go right back out.  Only once had I seen the fire last long enough for him to stomp it out, but that had seemed more like a conscious attempt to not set the whole house alight than a need to keep his soles from melting.

I'd been curious about it the entire time I was there, because they looked like just plain old Doc Martens.  Shouldn't the rubber soles have melted right off them?  I tiptoed across the room to keep from waking him and bent over the mud mat to get a close look at the ratty old boots that were sitting there like sentinels guarding the door.

The leather was scorched and singed but there was no real damage to them.  I was reaching out to touch one when a voice from across the room startled me.

"Dun'nae anger the fire god."

I yanked my hand back and stood up, guilty and embarrassed at being caught.  "What?"

"Dia Laisir," King said, his eyes lighting a little with a flicker of humor.  He hadn't moved from the position he'd been in with the exception of raising his head to look at me.  "Those are his."

"Then why do you have them?"

He shrugged, his hands absently stroking the sofa cushions on either side of him in a casually sensual way that was making me clench my thighs together.  "He gave them to me."

"Then they're yours."

"Aye."

"Are you saying you're...Dia...Laser...?"

He laughed, a soft chuckle that made the whole thigh-clenching thing a whole lot worse.  "Lae-seer.  No, I'm no more an elemental than you're the postman's left nut."

"Well I know the postman is Dave MacDale, so I'm going to have to solidly agree with you on that one."

We stared at each other for a minute, and even though he looked sleepy and maybe just a little bit out of it, I swear I'd never felt more drawn to him in the entire time I'd known him.  This single strange day had introduced me to sides of him I never knew existed.  A mischievous nature and a troublemaking streak were both now clearly present in him where I'd never suspected he could be playful with others.  He had friends, both to get into and out of trouble with.  People were tolerant of his behavior and seemed fond of him in a begrudging sort of way.  They liked to claim he was the village idiot but I'd seen the way at least five different people interacted with him on this night.  They all respected him, maybe even feared him a little.  Even the chief constable seemed extremely hesitant to lock him up and I felt like if no one had arrived to take him home, King would probably have been a guest on his sofa that night, and the man's wife would have cooked him breakfast.

And then there was that whole fire thing...

It was intensely erotic in some weirdly demented kind of way and before I realized what I was doing, I had crossed the room and settled in on his lap, straddling his thighs.

 

He reacted to me slowly, sort of just sitting there half reclined while I initiated everything, which was unusual for both of us.  He often let me take the lead in bed but there weren't many times when he was completely passive like this and somewhere in my desire-fogged head it occurred to me that he might not be in the mood.  But I couldn't just switch it off, and I was rubbing against his groin when he suddenly dropped his hands to the sofa on both sides of his thighs and sighed heavily.  His voice was quiet but very no nonsense when he said, "I dunnae want to."

It was the first time he'd ever turned me down for sex and I was so taken aback that it didn't even register for a few seconds that he'd said no.

"What?"

He opened his eyes and looked straight into mine.  _"I don't want to."_

This was new, both the words and the tone in which he spoke them, and there was absolutely nothing in me that wanted to either challenge him or try to change his mind.  I nodded quickly and sat up on his knees to scoot off of him.

"Okay - "

"I don't want any more bairns."

I didn't think I'd understood him correctly at first; I moved across from him to the coffee table and sat on it, straightening my sweater where his hands had very briefly pushed it up before he'd slammed on the brakes.  I was about to tell him I was on Depo again and it wasn't a concern, but seeing as I'd been on it when I got pregnant with Pod, I knew it wouldn't do anything to reassure him.  I didn't want any more kids either so I had no problem with what he'd said, but just hearing him say it was unexpected.  "That's fine, I feel the same way.  I had so much trouble being pregnant and the delivery about murdered me.  Once is enough for me."

He nodded, but I knew my reasons weren't his.  His hands were shaking visibly and he sat forward suddenly, dropping his head to rake his fingers through his hair.  It fell in his face in messy curls, hiding his eyes, which struck me as being exactly what he wanted.  Something to hide behind.  I resisted the urge to reach out and brush it out of the way, letting him have his safe space.  "I've no right to worry over them, they dunnae belong ta me."

"What do you - "

"They're no mine.  The bairns.  But I think of them and it - "  He clutched at his chest for a moment, eyes shut tight.  "I dunno what I feel."

_That's your heart, you goofy man._

I tried hard to remember what Glenda had told me about the whole siring thing, about how he signed papers when they reached a certain age so that their adoptive fathers could give them their last names.  About how he relinquished all rights of parenthood and stayed out of their lives while they moved on, pretending he didn't exist, legally protected now that they had a few drops of McClary blood in their own clans.

It seemed so barbaric, and not just the primitive nature of the custom.  It was horrible for King, I realized that now.  He could present himself as angry, unconcerned, aloof and distant all he wanted to - but sitting here now, right in front of him, watching him rub his chest over his heart as if that would calm the ache that he didn't understand - I was suddenly furious.  Furious with all the snooty hypocrites that had been looking down their noses at me, pretending they had their king's best interests at heart when every last one of them probably approved of what had been done to him.  All the words I'd heard used to describe him - _simple, not quite right, missing something, smart as a whip but not capable of stringing three words together_ \- they made me feel sick to my stomach, partly because I knew none of them were true...but mostly because if they _had_ been true, what sort of monsters were these people that they were so eager to use him for stud service?

I couldn't let him hurt like this.  He didn't know what he was feeling, but I did, it was right there in his eyes.  Grief, betrayal, heartbreak.  Things he couldn't comprehend, because all he knew was what lay at each far end of the emotional spectrum and not a single thing in between.

"But they are yours," I said quietly, trying hard to keep the anger out of my voice.  "It doesn't matter if the law says you have no rights to them, they're still your blood.  I saw how you were with that little girl, you're her father regardless of whose last name she has now."

He was silent for a minute and I noticed he was rocking, just slightly.  That made me sad beyond reason and I suddenly had an image of little Thomas, scared or hurt or upset over something he didn't understand or just couldn't cope with, sitting in a dark corner of that big library rocking himself till he felt safe again.  I wanted to hold him so bad, but I knew he couldn't be touched right now.  His own feelings were overstimulating him and he wasn't coping well - maybe because of the alcohol's lingering effects, maybe because of the stress of seeing Meghan so obviously distraught - so I just sat there across from him and stayed out of his space, being careful not to stare at him because I knew he could feel it.

"You're about'ta bust with questions, aren't ye."

I didn't answer him, there was no need to either lie or confirm his statement.  And then he suddenly sat up like someone had flipped a switch on his mood, pulled his shirt up and twisted to one side, tapping his ribs where an intricate tattoo was inked into his skin.  I'd seen it so many times, stared at it while he slept, trying to figure out what it meant.  Most of it was in ancient-looking runes of some kind, the one recognizable aspect of it being a lily-looking flower on a vine twisting through and around the runes.  He ran his fingers lovingly over the symbols for a second, then dropped his shirt back over it.

"Na mnathan-phrionnsa," he said quietly, rubbing his side with a faint smile on his lips.  "My princesses."

Me with my mouth wide was nothing new by any stretch of the imagination, but this was possibly the first time ever that I'd actually heard my jaw pop as it fell open.  The runes were names...?

_My princesses._

His children.

Tattooed there on his body, in his side where they would always be under the embrace of his arm, close to his heart but separated from it by the strong cage of his ribs.

A cage that protected his heart from something he loved, that wasn't allowed to love him back.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

 

 

 

 

**_Tagh do bhean còmhla ris a h-oidhche_ **

**_Choose your wife with her nightcap on_ **

 

 

 

"Wait, show me that again."

He stared at me for a minute, then nodded slowly and raised his shirt.  I got down on my knees in front of him to get a better look; even though I'd seen it dozens of times, I was always struck by the intricate beauty of the inkwork on his body and of this one in particular.  All of King's tattoos were well done and interesting to look at, but this had always been the one that caught my eye...and now that I knew what it was, something became obvious.

There were five names.

Five princesses?

He'd told me he had three children besides Pod.  Glenda had implied that there were a bunch, but wouldn't King know more than she did?  Why would he lie to me about it?  His words and his tattoo seemed to blatantly contradict each other and my head scrambled frantically for some way to delicately ask him about it.

"What do they say?"

He touched the names one at a time.  "Summer.  Ella.  Eowyn.  Sian."

"And this one?"  I reached across and touched the set of runes that his fingers had skipped, in between Ella and Eowyn.  The crease between his eyebrows furrowed for a moment, but not in anger or irritation.  It was more like sorrow.

"She were never named, not legally.  She answers to Lisbeth."  His face crumpled for just a second, just long enough for me to see it, then his expression went blank and I knew what he was saying.

A lost princess.

Before I thought about it I was reaching out to lay my hand on his knee in some useless gesture of comfort that I realized would probably just make him angry, but all he did was close his eyes again and lay his head back on the sofa cushion.  Something about not having those mercurial green eyes on me gave me a rush of the stupid bravery I was known for and I asked the first question that popped into my head.

"What do you mean...she answers?"

"In my dreams."

It was all he said, but he said it in a way that told me there would be no elaborating on the subject this night.  I knew I didn't want to push him anymore anyway, he'd given me more than enough for now.  But I still wanted to know why he'd told me there were three girls - he'd said it plain and clear standing there in my kitchen in Philadelphia while he looked me straight in the eye - if there were five names inked in his side?  Even if one had died, which he'd just heavily implied was the case, that still left one unaccounted for.

Had one been born while I was pregnant?

"How old are they?" I asked, unable to keep myself from hoping for just one more bit of information before I let him rest.  If he answered, it would also answer the question of whether or not there was a new baby just a few months older than Pod.  It seemed important to me for some reason, just to know.

"Ella is five.  Eowyn's three, Sian is...a little o'er a year now, I suppose.  You saw her at the cabin, the day Fiona come up."

I remembered that.  The day I'd stomped off, hoping to never see him again.  The pretty blonde girl holding the tiny black haired baby out by her truck as I trudged down the muddy road on foot, ready to never look back.  But I had looked back, for one brief moment, just long enough to see King doing daddy.

"Summer is near seventeen, in June."

That was three, plus Lisbeth was four, and -  _What?!?_

It was a massive struggle to keep myself from jumping up and knocking over the coffee table once his words hit my brain, but I managed to keep my butt on the sofa and calm my breathing enough to avoid choking on my own air.  King had a  _seventeen year old??_  The math flew around in my head, numbers crashing into each other until finally an equation fell into place.  A seventeen year old child would put him at just eighteen himself when it happened.

I knew he had come back to Claighe from Glasgow when he was between fifteen and seventeen, I wasn't sure how old he'd been exactly but I knew his father had died when he was fifteen and that he hadn't stayed in the city long after that.  Glenda's narrative had him keeping to himself up there for a while without anyone seeing much of him, until one day he came down off the hill with a shaggy beard, long hair, well over six feet tall and looking like a full grown man where a half grown kid had gone up the hill a year earlier.  He had walked into the courthouse clerk's office and signed the documents that verified he was the McClary heir.  The day he'd signed his life away, obligating himself to take care of the village and the people in it in whatever way they needed.

The fact that he had a seventeen year old daughter proved that they hadn't waited long to start making demands of him...unless she was a product of something other than duty, which I doubted.  Something told me King would never have mingled with the villagers if he hadn't had to, and the idea of him having a sweetheart - or even a one night stand - with one of them wasn't likely.

But I didn't really know one way or the other, and he'd surprised me before.

 

 

In the morning I got up early to my phone's alarm, not wanting to miss King's call with Meghan.  He'd stayed the night on my sofa wrapped up in a blanket and seeming, for the first time since I'd known him, to be cold and uncomfortable.  But he wouldn't come to my bed with me and I ended up dragging my own blanket and pillow out into the livingroom to curl up on the floor next to the couch.

At some point during the night he'd reached down and laid his hand on my head, the way I'd seen him do with Pod and Ella and Fiona's baby, and I felt like maybe it was a way of saying _I love you_ that meant more to him than speaking the words.

I had put my hand over his and squeezed his fingers, and he didn't pull it away.

 

"I've to go into town and get Ella," he said as I was coming out of the bathroom, still groggy and half asleep; he was tugging on his coat and his boots were already on on his feet, and I panicked for a second when I realized he'd gotten his call while I was washing my face and getting dressed.

"What?  Already?  What did Meghan say?"

"That motherfucker Campbell will be back tomorrow, so she's goin' to a friend's in Cornwall.  There's no room for Ella."

"Cornwall?  In _England?"_

"Aye."

"Ella's coming to stay with us then?"

"Aye."

I followed him down the hall and into the livingroom, still spewing questions.  "Will he - Campbell - will he know she's here?  Won't he try to come get her?"  It didn't make a lot of sense if the man was going to see us around town with his kid.

"If he does he'll ne'er be seen again."  King handed me my coat and motioned for me to put it on.  "And there's not a soul in Claighe that'll look for 'im."

I stood there, a little bit shellshocked and not completely awake yet, trying to catch up to what he was saying while I stared blankly at his retreating back as he headed into the bedroom.  He came out a minute later with Pod, already bundled into his snowsuit and carrying my bag in the other hand, and only then did I realize he meant for me to go with him.

 _He's including me,_ I realized with a heady rush of both excitement and apprehension.  _He wants me to be involved in this._

It was then that it dawned on me that I was about to be somebody's stepmother.

 

 

Meghan was waiting for us on the bench in front of the vet's office on the main street, teary eyed and holding onto Ella's hand so tight that the little girl's fingers were red.  Ella looked confused but not scared, and when King got out of the car, a big smile broke across her face.

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, so I unbuckled Pod and hurried along after him.  Meghan looked past King's shoulder at me when I caught up and something like relief seemed to flood her face when she saw me.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know what else to do.  I hope this is okay.  I don't want to cause any problems for you - "

King was already on his knees in front of the little girl, holding one hand out to her.  She took it without hesitation.

"You'll come stay with Molly and Pod and me," he said quietly.  The child nodded and handed him the little bag that she was holding.  A doll's head was sticking out of it.  Meghan held another bag out to me and I took it, not really knowing what else to do.  And then she started to cry and King stepped away, turning his back to her as she grabbed Ella up and hugged her, telling her to be a good girl and behave.  He didn't turn back around again until she'd stopped crying and cleared her throat, and I wondered if he'd turned away to preserve her dignity or to avoid being confused and agitated by her tears.

I didn't have time to figure it out either, because just as she was about to reach out and touch his arm, the vet - Michael, I remembered his name because he'd been nice to me - came rushing out and hurried past us, tugging his coat on and turning to run backward while he yelled at King to come with him.  There was something about an emergency at the Killairn farm and I looked at King, panicked that he was going to leave this awkward situation in my hands.

And that was exactly what he did.

He pointed to Ella as he took out after Michael without hesitating.  "Take her home," he yelled from halfway across the street.  And then he and the vet were gone, the heavily chained tires on Michael's truck kicking up mud and snow as they sped off to whatever godforsaken emergency it was that required the two of them.

Meghan and I looked at each other, neither of us knowing what to do now.

"I have to go, I've got a long trip ahead of me," she finally said, her eyes locked on Pod.  "He's a fine one.  What's 'is name?"

"Pod," I answered without thinking, then shook my head and corrected myself.  "Dylan, actually.  Thomas Dylan."  She reached out and touched his dark hair, sticking straight up off his head where his hood had slipped down.

"He's a McClary alright."

I just nodded and watched uncomfortably as she hugged and kissed Ella again, then I assured her that we would take good care of her and told her to stay safe.  I couldn't imagine being able to walk away from my child, but as I watched her get into her car and drive away, I didn't feel any urge to judge her for it.  I didn't know her story.  And the way she had reached for King's arm hadn't been overly familiar - if anything, it was a hesitant gesture, almost like she was afraid to touch him.  I couldn't possibly find any way to be jealous of that and suddenly felt sorry for the women who'd been sent up the hill to sleep with him by their husbands or fathers or whoever did the sending.  King wasn't an easy man to warm to in the best of circumstances and it wouldn't have surprised me to find out he'd been every bit as hostile and unwelcoming to these women as he had been to me.

Those poor girls.

But they'd gotten what they needed from him, and that was what separated me from them.  He gave them what they needed because his name made him responsible for them.

He gave _me_ what I _wanted._ And he owed me nothing.

 

I loaded the children into the car, muttering halfhearted curses at King under my breath for leaving us like that.  I didn't know what to do with a five year old girl.  I barely knew what to do with a three month old boy.  I had no idea how long this situation was going to last, but for the moment I was suddenly a mom of two and completely, utterly, frantically in over my head.  And while I was sitting there staring at the snow falling on my windshield trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next, a little voice from the back seat broke into my stunned silence and made me jump.

"Molly I need the loo."

"You need the what?"

"Loo.  I need to go bad."

Oh.   _Here we go, your on the job training starts now._   We were across the street from Glenda's pub so I unbuckled all the buckles I'd just buckled and loaded Pod back into his snowsuit, sat him on my hip with my bag in the same hand, got Ella back out of the car and held onto her with my other hand, and the three of us hustled across the slick road.  It took me a few seconds to get the door open with the hand I was holding my big heavy purse with, but it finally popped open and I scooted Ella inside in front of me and then turned around to shake the snow off Pod's hood.

When I turned back around, every eye in the place was on us.  I'd be damned if we hadn't just walked into the weekly meeting of the aptly nicknamed Claighe Judgmental Society, and now thanks to an unexpected bathroom visit, we were about to become the topic for discussion.

 

I tried to ignore the looks, I honestly did.  I knew none of these people mattered and their opinions meant squat in the universal scheme of things.  But when I handed Pod over the bar to Glenda and hurried Ella to the little bathroom under the stairs, there was just no way to avoid hearing the murmuring that erupted like a volcano full of whispers and tsk'ing disapproval that followed us all the way across the room.  And it was finally too much.  They could shake their heads and wag their tongues at me all they wanted - I was a grown ass woman, I could take it.  But I had mine and King's kids with me this time and I wasn't about to let these people think they could behave like this in front of them.  So when Ella was finished peeing I helped her with her little leggings and skirt and marched her out to Glenda's office behind the bar, took Pod from Glenda's arms and laid him on his back on the floor next to where I'd sat Ella down and told her to play with him, and shut the door behind me hard enough to raise every head in the establishment.

And then I opened my mouth and let that room full of squawking geese know what I thought of them.

"You've all got a _lot_ of nerve, sitting in here judging me when every last one of you was in favor of making King uphold that archaic rule that was of benefit to nobody but you.  You've all been taking advantage of him ever since he came back to Claighe.  How old was he the first time the lot of you queued up your daughters and wives outside his door to go home with a McClary heir?  Sixteen?  Seventeen?"  Several people looked at each other in shock and a few suddenly lowered their heads, no longer willing to stare me down.  But I was just gathering my steam and I wasn't about to stop now that I had their attention.  "I know he's got a kid somewhere around here that's a teenager, so that means you people were getting what you could get from him when he was barely more than a teenager himself.  And yet you can sit in here sipping your pale ales and judging me over the tops of your teacups like I've committed some heinous wrongdoing by giving him an heir the proper way - by loving him and choosing to spend the rest of my life with him, _the way it's supposed to be done!"_

A distinctly hyena-like laugh erupted from the far end of the bar and I knew without looking who it was.  "You shut up Dave MacDale!  I've got words for you too but fortunately for you today isn't your day.  But at least you've been a friend to him and as far as I know you've never slept with him for selfish gain."  He went straight faced but I could see the grin still lurking in his eyes as he put his hand over his mouth.  I glared across the bar at Glenda, but she was just standing there, obviously waiting to hear what else I had to say.  There was a hard look on her face and she was staring at the ladies at the back table like she was daring them to say a word.

I was done, though.  These people could hate me all they wanted, it meant nothing to me anymore.  I was finished trying to be their friend, to fit in, to be accepted.  It wasn't going to happen, and so be it.  I'd made a few acquaintances and gotten my foot in the door enough to satisfy my need to be a part of things, if only in a limited way.  It would be enough.  I had far more important things to worry about now.

I marched behind the bar and retrieved the babies without another word, surprised at the sudden heavy silence that had descended over the room.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork of King and Pod by VivianStark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	23. Chapter 23

 

 

**_Bidh daoine a 'coimhead ri màireach; bidh daoine glic a 'cleachdadh a-nochd_ **

**_Fools look to tomorrow; wise men use tonight_ **

 

 

 

My exit was a little less dramatic than I'd hoped it would be, what with trying to juggle a squirmy infant on one arm and my big heavy bag slipping off my shoulder while I tried to grab Ella's hand and get the three of us out the door without dropping anything.  Once we were out I had to quickstep a little to avoid being hit in the backside by the swinging door - I'd been a bit overly enthusiastic in slamming it and it swung back with a vengeance - and before we could start across the street again a painfully familiar voice behind me shouted for me to wait up.

"Aww shite, it's Dave MacDale," I muttered; Ella giggled and we just kept going, didn't stop walking and didn't turn around, but I knew neither would deter him.  "Dave, I'm in no mood," I warned him over my shoulder as we trotted across the street as quickly as was safe on the slippery cobblestones.  "Stop following us or I'll tell King!"

"I know where you can have the weddin'."

"What?"

"Aye, the Teasairginn Ròs chapel, you've seen it.  It's down the hill past the Dougal farm, we drove right by it when I picked you up from the airport."

I thought about it for a minute, not sure if I was remembering correctly.  "That little stone church that looked like it belongs in a fairy tale?"

"It's empty but the Old Biddies Institute keeps it in order.  I can get it for you, if you want it."

I had to think for a minute again, then realized what he was saying.  He meant the Womens Institute, the one organization that had accepted me without much hassle.  Great, I was officially a card carrying Old Biddy now.

The thought of going anywhere with Dave right that moment was so far down on my to-do list that it was barely existent, but he was smiling - a sincere smile, not his usual  _had too many and about to say something stupid_  smile - and for the first time in a while I felt a spark of something like hope.  I hefted my chunky little child up on my hip where he had slipped down and told Ella to stand still for a minute, then turned and glared at him to let him know he'd better not be messing with me.  He was on the sidewalk grinning like an idiot and I noticed his left hand was bandaged...I knew from watching him brawl with King that day in the pub that he punched with his left.  I also knew King currently had a split lip that he'd acquired at some point during his and Dave's big yule tree adventure.

Anyone who could punch King McClary in the mouth and live to tell the tale must have either super powers or a contract with the devil, and it was never a bad idea to have a person with either one of those on your side.

"Show me."

He grinned, gave me a not half charming wink, and trotted across the street to take Ella's hand as I followed unsteadily on the slick stones.  He climbed into the passenger seat of my car and started singing what I'm sure would have probably been a filthy bar song if I could have understood him, but for once I was grateful for the thick slurred brogue that kept me blissfully in the dark as to what was coming out of his mouth.  I was buckling Ella's seatbelt when she suddenly laughed.

"Dave's me mum's cousin," she giggled.

If that didn't knock what was left of my wind right out of me, nothing could.

I was about to be related to Dave MacDale by marriage in some twisty roundabout way.  I sighed, totally resigned to whatever else this day was going to hurl at me.

"Of course he is. _Why not."_

 

 

No more than fifteen minutes later I was rethinking my poor opinion of future relative Dave when I found myself standing in the open stone doorway of the quaintest, oldest, most ridiculously perfect venue I could have hoped for, if I were prone to wild fantasies.  The chapel was ancient as dirt but had obviously been cared for by someone who took their job seriously.  It was completely stonework right down to the rough cut slab pews, full of natural light from huge windows that had been carved directly into the stone, and the acoustics - all echoey and bright - seemed to rule out the need for any electrical accompaniment, as I could hear Dave breathing all the way from the back of the building.  All we would need to do was throw a few flowers around and tell the officiant when to be there.

I could have hugged the drunken lout.  He had gone to the front and done a little tapdance behind the pulpit while singing something he absolutely shouldn't have been singing in a church, and was now standing beside me with Ella on his back, all proud of himself and grinning like he expected to be best man.  I couldn't even bring myself to groan inwardly when I realized that he probably would be.

It was an odd feeling when it sank in.  I had come to Scotland alone, just me and my son, without anyone.  My dad was still alive but we hadn't spoken in years, not since he'd run off to Australia with his new wife after my mom passed away, and he didn't even know where I was now.  I had some cousins scattered around the States and a couple of uncles that I wasn't close to.  The only relative I really considered to be blood was my cousin Kady, which basically meant Pod and I were more or less alone in the world.

Until now, when suddenly Pod had both a daddy and a sister and a - whatever Dave was.  I wasn't sure but there was blood there between him and Ella, so he was something to us, and there were god knew how many Auchinlecks in Glasgow who shared blood with King.

We had relatives now.

It was a strange little family unit, to be sure...but it felt kinda nice.

 

 

King didn't come home until late that night, covered in mud and muck with several cuts and scrapes all over his arms.  Pod and Ella were both asleep in the bedroom, so while he showered I warmed him some dinner and then went into the bathroom to take a look at his injuries.  They weren't bad, and while I bandaged them he just stared at me like I was something new he hadn't seen before.

"What would you have done if I'd said no to Ella coming here?" I asked as I stuck a bandaid on his elbow, just above the crown tattoo that I'd always meant to ask him about.  He was watching me intently and it was starting to make me fidget.

"I'd have took her to Glasgow, to me gran."

"Would you have been mad at me?"

"No."

I ran my fingertip down his arm as he lowered it.  "Would you still marry me?"

"Aye."

He leaned forward and stopped with his mouth just an inch or so from mine.  I could feel his breath on my lips and it was all I could do to keep my thoughts together enough to form a coherent sentence.  "Dave found us a place for the wedding.  It's nice, if you don't mind getting married in a chapel."  I heard the bare skin of his lower back squeak against the porcelain sink behind him, followed a moment later by the soft bump of his lips against mine.  "Do you mind?  Getting married in a chapel?"

"If it'll take that anxious look out'o your eyes, I'll marry you anywhere."

"Your heathen gods won't care?"

"If they do they can fight me."

His arms came up around me and we stumbled awkwardly out of the bathroom, bumping into the walls as he guided me down the hallway backwards, his previous fear of impregnating me again apparently a thing of the past.  When I realized where he was taking me, I pushed against him hard enough to stop us before we got to the door. 

"No, not the bedroom - the babies are asleep in there."

He sighed, an obviously annoyed sound that made me wince as he pulled back from me.  "In the big bed?"

"Yeah."

"Molly I put a bed in tha' room down tha' hall for a reason - "

"I know."

"And Pod has 'is own bed so why are they both in the bed I put there for _us?"_

"I know, I know...but it's so big and soft and comfy and warm and they can be together in it and oh my god King they're so cute, you should go look at them."

His head had tilted to one side and his eyes were scrunched shut, his official _fer fuckssake shut up already_ expression plastered solidly across his face.  Without opening his eyes he started to turn away and growled "I'm goin' up the hill."

"No!  No wait - "  I grabbed the front of his towel and tugged him toward me, the first time I'd ever really been that forceful with him physically.  "Stay.  We can go out to the barn."

One eyebrow went up and he glared down at me with a potent mixture of annoyance and interest.  "Aye?"

"Yeah, you go get a fire started and I'll make sure the kids are safe.  I'll meet you out there in a few minutes."

He was still glaring at me distrustfully but his hands had come up to my shoulders and he was squeezing them gently, though his thumbs were digging in and it felt almost like _Daddy King_ and _Lover King_ were having a bit of an internal battle for his soul.

Lover King won.

"Alright.  But you better be wearin' naught but frills."

I nodded; I wasn't really sure what he'd just said, but I did understand the _frills_ part and knew he wanted me in lacy undies.

"Okay.  Go on."

He obeyed, but as he turned away I saw him shoot an angry glare at the bedroom door.  Something told me it was going to take a while for him to get used to the idea of having multiple kids in the house.  It had always been just him, and now suddenly it was him and three other people...I wasn't sure how steep this learning curve was going to be, but just the thought of both the kids crying at once made me feel a little bit panicked.

The barn was going to pay for itself pretty quick.

 

 

Ten minutes later I pushed the barn door open and stepped inside, completely unsure that what I was doing was a good idea despite the lecherous grin that broke across King's face as he put his plate of food on the bedside table and stretched his arms up behind his head.  He was mostly naked, his pair of ratty longjohns keeping his legs warm but slung so far down on his hips that I could see the shadow of dark hair low on his belly.  Just below that was the hard bulge of the guy stuff I was about to make a play for.  I thought I saw it twitch as he was stretching out on the bed and my face went hot for a second.  That twitch was for me.

I couldn't believe he still made me feel this way, like everything about him was filthy and against the rules and completely, irredeemably naughty.  Ian had never stretched out mostly naked on a bed with his arms tucked behind his head, looking at me brazenly like he was just daring me to come closer.  There was nothing even remotely like this in my history with Ian, and I cleared my throat and fanned my face for a second with my hands to get that thought gone.  Ian was so far in my past that the dust had long settled and the tracks down that particular road had blown away in the wind.

 _Turadh._   The storm that roiled around me and King had blown them away forever, and for the life of me I couldn't even remember what direction they went.  Nowhere good.

"You gonna stand there blushin' pink in tha cheeks or come see me?"

"Oh I can see plenty from here."  I let my eyes fall to that bulge, determined not to let him embarrass me - but he dropped one hand on his thigh, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the heavy stack of manhood that I knew was under there.  The look on his face was pure unadulterated lech.

And then he patted the bed beside his leg and I knew things were about to escalate.

"Come 'ere."

I slipped my coat off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor;  King's eyes followed it and I heard him mutter something under his breath when his gaze fell to what I was wearing underneath it.  I had washed a heavy flannel shirt that he'd left on the bathroom floor and now it was serving as an impromptu nightie, coming down my thighs just far enough to hide what he'd requested I wear.  In a fit of ridiculously obvious flirtation, I turned around and bent over to pick up my coat, showing him that I'd obeyed.

"Fuckin 'ell."

"Frills, like the man ordered."

"Ah see that."

"You probably saw more than I intended for you to," I whined, tugging at the lacy backside that was riding up my own backside.  They weren't quite the right size, but they were the frilliest pair I had.

"Take 'em off."

"Yeah?  Alright - "

Making sure his shirt would cover everything I was about to expose, I wiggled out of the panties as alluringly as I could - though I wasn't thoroughly convinced that there was much allure to it, and by the time I'd lost my balance pulling them off my left foot I figured he would have given up and gone back to eating his dinner.  But he was still laying there watching me with that dark look of desire in his eyes, the one that always managed to stay interested even when I was lumbering around like a drunken giraffe.  Bless his soul, he had never once laughed at me in my awkwardness, not since the day I'd met him.

He held his hand out.

"Give em 'ere."

I tossed them to him; he let them land on his stomach and slowly picked them up, dragging them up his chest to his face where he pressed them to his mouth, never taking his eyes off me.

"Lose the wellies."

"The floor is probably freezing."

"Then lose the wellies and get in the bed b'fore yer feet get cold."

I was already shivering and he _did_ look nice and warm over there on the bed with the fireplace crackling next to it.  I quickly abandoned phase two of my seduction plans and hiked one leg up to yank my boot off.

"Slow," he barked at me, propping up on one elbow and nodding toward my other boot.  "You know those legs are your best asset."

"Yeah well..."  I ended up hopping around in a circle to get the other one off and sighed with exasperation as I finally got it off and dropped it to the floor with a thud.  So much for being sexy.  "Sorry, I'm afraid I'm not coordinated enough to be a convincing exotic dancer.  Or even an unconvincing one."

When I looked at him again he was grinning.  He nodded toward the rough wooden beam I was holding onto for balance.

"Good thing that pole's just for holdin' the roof up then."

 

I was going to say something smart back to him, but I noticed suddenly that the hand he'd been holding my panties in was now inside the front of his longjohns - and so were my panties, most likely.  He was slowly stroking himself with that dark grin still on his face and I no longer cared if I looked silly or clumsy or completely, hopelessly inexperienced in the ways of seduction.  King didn't need all that.  I'd just bungled a perfectly simple little bit of flirtation and he was still staring at me appreciatively, rubbing himself lazily with my underwear while he watched, not the least bit turned off by my struggle with my boots or my decidedly un-sexy attempt to dig those very same undies out of my private bits earlier.  None of that bothered him.  And it wasn't that his tastes were terribly unsophisticated...he just loved me, and all the unwieldy things that that entailed.

I crossed the chilly room and crawled onto the bed next to him, tugging the blanket up over us.

"We probably have about twenty minutes before Pod decides he's hungry," I whispered as he turned over and moved on top of me.  "So make it fast and make it good, big man."

He lifted his belly off mine just long enough to push his longjohns down and nudge my thighs apart with his hand.

"Aye," he murmured against my cheek.  "Don't want me dinner gettin' cold."  He lowered his face to my chest and nuzzled against my breast with his warm mouth.  _"Nor his."_

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Artwork by VivianStark exclusively for The McClary Chronicles - please don't post anywhere without a credit to the artist and a link back to this fic*


	24. Chapter 24

 

 

 

**_ Cha bu chòir do luchd-reic Ale a bhith nan sgeulaichean sgeulachd _ **

**_ Ale sellers shouldna' be tale tellers _ **

 

 

 

I lay there staring at the raw beamed ceiling, trying to figure out if that was actually a bird nest wedged up there in the rafters or if my eyes were just not ready to refocus yet.

 _Sex.  So much sex_.  King had done right by me, repaying me more than sufficiently for venturing out to the barn in the cold in just my panties and his shirt with my coat thrown over them.  It was obvious he appreciated the thought, based on how quickly he'd gotten hard and how just as quickly he had gotten me wet.  And _oh_ how he showed that appreciation.

The first one went fast - for me anyway - but when he didn't stop after my second shuddering climax I realized he was holding back for some reason.  His eyes were closed tight and there was a pained scowl twisting his brow that betrayed the effort he was putting into controlling himself, but he was still going.

"We need to hurry, King," I said breathlessly as he started sucking his way down my chest again toward regions south.  "The babies - "

"The babes are fine," he grunted back, taking a hard suck at my nipple that made my stomach clench up.  There was a no nonsense edge to his voice under the raspy weight of arousal but no matter how good it all felt,  I wasn't about to let him make us irresponsible parents - one of us had to let a thought stray to the house and our little family that was sleeping inside it, and it was no shocking surprise that it was going to have to be me.

I sat up to wriggle out from under him but he pushed me back down, his big hands gripping my hips firmly enough to be just a bit too hard.  His mouth was pushing up against me between my parted legs, nudging in so that his tongue could find its way to warmer places.  It was obvious he had no intention of letting me up.  But I had no intention of letting him keep me there, because that whole fierce parental thing was overriding it all.

"Let me up, I need to go check on them.  _Now,_ King."

No luck.  His head was firmly between my thighs now, his softly scratchy beard scraping against the already touchy bits of me that he'd just pleasured so thoroughly.  It was so tempting to just lay back and let him have his way, but the thought of Pod waking up hungry and crying and Ella being scared of her new surroundings made the sudden rush of heat turn instantly cold.  "As much as I would love to do this all night, _you need to let me up right now!!"_

He growled, but I was immune to his bad temper when it came to my kids.  Kid.

 _Kids?_  

I blinked hard as I watched him sit up off me, a little bit surprised at how easily I'd transitioned from a mother of one to a mother of two.  When had that happened?  I couldn't pinpoint any one particular moment when I'd made a conscious decision to consider Ella as much mine as King's, but there it was.  I'd had her for less than a day and already I was including her in my righteous indignation.

King didn't seem to notice; he was reaching into the drawer on the bedside table and pulling something out, something that he dropped on the bed next to me as he got up and strolled to the door.  I looked down at it.  A baby monitor handset.  It was on, the little red light indicating that it was actively receiving.

"Is the base to this in the house?"

He was peeing out the door and grunted something at me that sounded vaguely like an affirmation.  I turned up the volume on the handset and was relieved to hear Pod doing that little _mumm umm num_ thing he did when he was sleeping soundly.  Nobody was crying.  The transmitter was obviously near the big bed, though I'd never seen it before.  Where had he put it?

"Do you listen to us sleeping when you're out here?"

He didn't respond, just came back over to the bed and ran one big hand down my thigh on top of the twisted sheet.  His eyes followed it like he wasn't sure what it was going to do, but was intensely interested in finding out.

I was pretty interested myself, and spread my knees just a bit to encourage its exploration.  We could hear the babies sleeping soundly, there was no reason for me to go running off back to the house just yet.  And as he crouched over me just long enough to run his warm wet tongue down the center of my chest all the way down my stomach and up under that soft heated place where my legs came together, I reached down and pushed my hands into his hair.  It was soft and thick and tangled like it almost always was from the wind and the rain and his general lack of interest in personal grooming, and my fingers caught in the heavy waves that curled against his neck and behind his ears.  A soft slurping sound hit my own ears at just about the same time the sensation of his lips closing around that touchy little bit of me hit my nervous system, and I was arching my back up to push against his face when I saw a fluttering in the rafters above us.

For some foggy nonsensical reason I equated it to the fluttering in my belly as King's long fingers brushed lightly over my hipbones.  I stared up at the dark recesses of the roof, completely blissed, until a scrabbling sound drew my attention again.

"Is that an owl?"

King stopped what he was doing just long enough to glance up at my face and then up to where I was looking.

"Maybe.  Could be the bats."

_Bats?!_

"Oh my god are you kidding me?!"

He chuckled softly against my inner thigh where he'd gone back to sucking and teasing.  "They just want to see what's goin' on."

I slapped my hands over my eyes, determined not to jump out of bed and run screaming back into the house.  So far I'd dealt with satanic geese, weird llama things, and Dave MacDale...I could handle peeping tom bats watching me have sex with my future husband.

What I _couldn't_ handle was the entire length of that future husband's tongue pushing its way up into me while his lips applied suction and his thumb rubbed insistently at my clit, blurring my vision again and making me forget all about whatever it was up there, watching curiously from the rafters.

 

 

 

Morning came far too early, but there was no mistaking the fact that it was there, shoving bright sunlight through the window onto my face and bringing a fussing infant with it.  I felt my mood for the day establish itself quickly into that unpleasant space between irritated and outright annoyed.  King had kept me up half the night, his strangely insatiable hunger for sex driving a huge wedge between me and the sleep I desperately needed - it had been a big week, full of drama and emotional upheaval and unexpected family additions, and the stress of it all was starting to jump out of the closets at me.

I could feel a headache coming on, pulling at the sides of my skull.

The fact that he'd kept waking me up wasn't helping matters.  The hungry baby that had finally started screaming at us over the monitor somewhere around dawn and the five year old who'd popped out of bed on some demented internal alarm clock like her father's before the sun was even firmly in the sky just added to the painful fatigue that was settling into my bones.  I'd gotten everyone fed and back to a fitful sort of sleep for maybe an hour or two before the combination of invasive sunshine and howling baby dragged me, whiny and complaining, out of my big warm bed.

And then there was the incessant hammering from outside.

"Ella?"

The little girl wasn't in the bed with me where I'd gotten her back to sleep; I rolled over and gave the floor a quick look over, but she wasn't down there either.  "Ella, where you at sweetie?"  There was no answer so I picked Pod up from his crib and wandered through the house, looking for the child I knew I'd brought home the day before.  I was beginning to entertain the notion that she might be a pixie or some weird highland creature that could come and go at will when I realized the hammering outside was coming from two separate directions.  King's potentially paranormal offspring exited my aching head as I yanked open the back door and stood there squinting into the sun, trying to keep his other squirmy child from throwing himself out of my arms as he continued to wail angrily for his breakfast.

"King?!"

A sudden jerking motion in my far left peripheral startled me and I jumped back, just about perfectly in unison with Dave MacDale falling over a wheelbarrow full of planks.

"Fuckin piss ya bitch!" he yelled, hopping back up and shoving his hammer out toward me.  "You scared tha jizz outta me!!"

I stared at him, daring him with my face to say another word to me without slapping a filter and a volume knob on it first.  He rubbed his head a bit sheepishly and took a deep breath.  "Mah apologies, banrigh.  It weren't jizz."

"Where is King?"

He pointed with the hammer, at some nondescript place in the general vicinity of the barn.

"Where's Ella?"

He shoved the hammer toward the barn again.  Beyond annoyed now, I stepped off the porch and headed in the direction he'd pointed, but he yelled after me and against my better judgment I turned around to see what he wanted.

"I have to go pick up Summer Rhonan at the airport, can you tell King I'm off?"

"Sure, whatever."

He dropped the hammer in the wheelbarrow and went to retrieve his coat from the porch, muttering out loud the whole time.  For some reason I stopped and listened to him; something he'd said had caught my attention, but I was having trouble sorting it around the headache and his continued bitching and Pod's steadily declining patience.  "Why's it anybody needs pickin' up at ta airport ev'rybody's instantly _Send Dave_?  Does nobody think I have me own shit to do?"

"What did you say?"

"I'm the town lackey, you need a spare hand ta shingle the fuckin roof?  Send Dave.  Need someone bumped off?  Send Dave.Run out 'o tampons in the middle of the night?  _Send Dave."_   He shoved his arms through his coat sleeves and looked at me.  "You did'nae hear me say that, by the way.  You know, the...the bumpin...thing..."

"No, who did you say you're picking up?"

He yanked his hat onto his head angrily, not even remotely listening.  "I should go to the States, I've a cousin there works in a pub, he'd set me up.  Come ta think of it though, he's a lackey too - but at least it's not for the whole damn town.  How big is San Diego anyway?  They need people bumped off there too don't they?"

 _"Who,_ Dave??"

"Oh yah right, Glennie's girl.  She's startin' uni so she's comin' home to visit."  He reached out to boop Pod's nose and I slapped his hand away, the two names starting to come together in my now throbbing head.

Glenda's daughter...since when did Glenda have a daughter??  Old enough to be starting college and named _Summer._

Summer - like the name inked on King's side, in the list of his children.  Not a hugely common name in these parts, I wouldn't think.  Not common enough for there to be more than one from this tiny little town.

No way.

Just...no.

 

I stomped around to the back of the barn, put my hands over Pod's ears, and yelled King's name.  Ella was there beside him handing him planks from a pile on the ground so I refrained from letting my irritation sustain the volume of my voice or my choice in adjectives and dropped it down several notches...but I was mad, and of all the little details King had left unspoken over the course of the year I'd known him, this one was just a notch past inexcusable.

"You have kept WAY too many secrets from me King McClary!" I shouted.  "The wedding is _off!"_

He turned around and looked at me, and then I swear to god that man _shrugged_ and went back to hammering.

 

 

I was in town before I really even realized I'd gotten in the car; I turned around to check that I'd put Pod in his seat, since I had absolutely no memory of having done so, and then I cleared my head just enough to think about what I was going to do.  I knew I didn't mean what I'd said to King, but goddammit I was exhausted half to death of his nonchalant unbothered attitude concerning the sharing of details of major importance.  And _this_ was important.  If he had a child with Glenda, that would mean she had lied to me and he had withheld information.  She had told me about all the little black haired babies in the village but had blatantly left herself off the list of mothers.  We were friends and I didn't even know she had a kid, much less one fathered by the man I was about to marry.

It all just felt...horrible.  And since my head was pounding and the baby was still crying and I was cranky as hell and feeling very much up to getting crossways with literally everyone in Scotland, I pulled into the loading zone in front of the pub and hauled my fat little son out of the car and marched through the door like a gunslinger about to shoot the place up.

Glenda was behind the bar and looked up, and in that split second when our eyes met, it was obvious she knew there was about to be trouble.  She took a deep breath and turned toward her office door, nodding for me to follow her. 

 

The door had barely swung shut behind us when I started in on her.

"Summer, Sian, Ella, Eowyn, Lisbeth.  Any of those names ring a maternal bell?"

She stared at me for a second with her mouth open, then closed it and stood up straight.  "Summer is mine."

"Surprise surprise, I guess you never figured he'd read me the runes."

"What runes?"  There was a genuinely confused look on her face and then she shook her head, indicating there was no need to answer.  "Look, she's mine, but she's not King's."

"What?"

"She's not King's."

"What does that mean?  Why is she tattooed on his side?"

"Tattooed?  I have no idea."

Some weird noise came out of my mouth that sounded like a growl and I turned around to leave, afraid if I stayed another second more of the uncivilized noises I'd apparently picked up from King would start tumbling out.  But Glenda wasn't ready to let me stomp out and grabbed me by the arm.

"Alright...shite.  Listen - when I were nineteen I ran off to the city against me parents' wishes.  I come back pregnant by some bloke I met at a concert.  It were about to be a hellacious _I told you so_ situation and I were sobbin' about it until King says 'Nobody likes me anyway, just say it was me.'"  She stared me in the eyes for a long time and I saw something that looked deeply like regret come across her face.  She sighed, suddenly unable to look at me anymore.  "And I'm ashamed to say I took him up on it.  He was barely seventeen, I was nineteen, but he looked like a man at that age and it were easy enough to convince my folks.  When Summer were born I put him on the birth certificate and as soon as he were legal age he adopted her to make it real."

A shooting pain seared through my head and I felt like I needed to sit down; Pod was suddenly too heavy and I realized I hadn't eaten anything since early the previous evening.  _Here we go again,_ I thought as I sank down into the chair behind the desk.  _More proof that King is a goddamn saint and I owe him an apology.  Again._

"I'm grateful to him for that," she continued quietly.  "I owe him.  Summer's under the protection of the McClary estate, she'll never want for anything for as long as she lives, thanks to that man.  He used his family money to set me up with this pub so I could support her myself, keep my dignity and pride.  Which is why I...lied to you about him at the start.  It were to protect him.  I'm sorry about that, I'm not proud of it.  But it was before I knew you and I was afraid you'd hurt him."

I nodded.  I didn't really know what else to do.

"I don't know about any tattoo and I sure as hell didn't expect him to still claim to be her Da after all this time.  My parents are dead, there's no need for it."  She sighed, shaking her head as she reached out to smooth down Pod's shaggy hair.  "He's a good man," she said after a long pause.  "I hope you know that."

 

 

I went back home, ready to eat crow and just about hungry enough to actually do it.  I'd been wrong about King before - thanks mostly to his tightlipped refusal to say more than was absolutely necessary to shut me up - but this one felt particularly bad.  The man had taken a family's anger upon himself to protect someone he considered his friend.  He was barely seventeen when he took the blame for Glenda's drunken mistake.  And then four years later when he was legally old enough he adopted her baby so the ruse could continue and the child would be taken care of financially, for life, by the McClary estate.

And I'd all but thrown his ring back in his face because I was minus a few details.

Well, _all_ of the details...but still.

And above and beyond all of that, as if it weren't enough to qualify him for sainthood, he had inked her name permanently onto his body with the rest of his children who shared blood with him, setting no distinction between the ones that were really his and the one that wasn't.

 

When I pushed the front door open the first thing I saw was King, sitting in the chair by the fireplace with Ella on his lap, snuggled back against his chest with a book.  She was reading to him and I waited until she finished the sentence she was on before I dropped my bag by the door and took a deep breath. 

"The wedding's back on."

King looked up at me, and all I could think was _if he shrugs I'm going to knock him out of that chair._

But he didn't shrug.  He just looked at me for a minute, nodded, and told Ella to start reading again.  And that was it.  Our first fight, breakup, and reconciliation had taken place over the course of two hours, and neither of us was any worse for the wear.

Somehow that seemed just about right.

 

 

_To be continued..._

 

 

 

 


	25. Chapter 25

 

 

 

**_Tha mi._ **

**_I do._ **

 

 

 

We - or I, to be a little more specific - set a date for the wedding at about a week off, and then I told Dave and sat back to let his mouth do the work for me.  I didn't care who he blabbed to since I expected an empty chapel at best, but the village needed to know that their king was getting married regardless of their ambiguous feelings about the bride.  I figured there was some sort of ancient protocol for it all but nobody seemed to think it was important enough to tell me how to do it, so I left it in MacDale's capable hands and turned my own attention to finding dresses for myself and Ella.

I told Glenda next, because she was to be my maid of honor and she'd need the time to get a dress of her own, and then I told King last because I knew he didn't care one way or the other.  It wasn't like he had a schedule to adhere to, and it wasn't shearing season so I knew he wouldn't be urgently occupied.  Unfortunately that also meant odds were against him shaving or getting a haircut since he only did that when the flock got theirs, but none of that mattered much to me now.  I just wanted him to show up, sober and ready to say I do or the Gaelic equivalent of it.  If that meant he was shaggy and looking like Grizzly Adams in our wedding photos, then so be it.  If he was wearing those ratty boots or barefooted, I couldn't care less.  He could even be a little bit tipsy if he wanted, I wasn't going to begrudge him a few pints in the pub on his way to the chapel.

I remembered Declan and the little satchel of sedatives at the airport, and just hoped he wouldn't have to be medicated to go through with it all.  But I could live with it if he did.

I loved him the same way, no matter how he turned up.

So long as he turned up.

 

 

The day I told him the date, he came down off the hill with Michael the vet in the passenger seat of his Jeep and whistled for me to get in as Michael was getting out.  The vet looked a little worse for the wear but apparently he was used to the way King barreled around the sliabh in that rickety deathmobile.  "I'll watch the bairns," he said to me as he held the door open, shutting it after I'd climbed in and shrugging when I shot him a questioning look.  I didn't know what was going on but I figured I was going to have to trust him with the kids, because King was already tying my seatbelt in a knot in my lap and gunning the engine before I had a chance to say anything.

It was so typical of our relationship, a perfect metaphor for the way we interacted.  King slapping the seatbelt on me, halfassed and barely tied and not even remotely safe, and me holding on for dear life as he floorboarded it, charging without brakes toward places that had no roads.

It wasn't even a heart pounding terror anymore so much as an expectation.  But a thrill just the same.

 

Fifteen minutes later we were higher up on the hill than I'd ever been before, stopping at a rocky outcropping that signaled the end of the so-called road.  There was a low stone wall just beyond it, and King got out and headed for it while I struggled to untie the knotted belt.  His phone rang and he stopped walking to answer it, giving me time to work my way gracelessly out from under the strap and catch up to him.

"Is that Dave?  He's supposed to call you when he has his suit, I don't want to give him my number because god only knows what he'd do with it - "

He looked up and winced as his eyes met my face, and I shut up immediately.  Too many words, too much noise - and he was trying to listen to what was being said on the phone, which I knew wasn't easy for him when I was talking.  My voice was cringingly out of place with the quiet solitude of the hill and I put my words away so he could find his comfort in the silence with one ear and listen to the call with the other.

When his face relaxed, his own voice, quiet and low, seemed to belong here with the wind and the rustling of the tall grass.  _He_ belonged here.  I made a vow to myself in that moment to never drag him off the hill for any reason, to just wait for him to come to me whenever he wanted or needed to seek my company.  I knew he would come of his own accord, whenever he was ready.  And I could wait for it, because a calm and happy King was preferable to the surly, disquieted alternative.

"Was Declan," he said as he hung up, waving his hand somewhere toward the north.  I knew the gesture was meant to indicate Declan from Glasgow, the man that traveled with him on business, the one that was in charge of watching out for him and keeping him calm and on track.  "He's been workin' on me stallion at Kinrick."

"Oh...oh, okay."  Kinrick - that was the family estate as close as I could recall, only having heard him use the word once before.  I blinked and stared at him.  I didn't know he kept horses other than the giant woolly thing in his barn that had pulled my truck out of the mud, way back when he still hated me and I wasn't very fond of him either.  I was about to ask what sort of stallion he had stabled in Glasgow when I heard the text dinger on his phone go off, indicating that a picture had just come in.

"Is that it?  Can I see?"

I took the proffered phone from his hand and looked at the picture on the screen.

It wasn't a horse - it was a car, sitting in an enclosed garage with tools laid out on its hood, obviously being restored.  And not just any car.  Ian had been a big vintage car fanatic so I knew what I was looking at, and my years as a dutiful and involved significant other came rushing back at me as the details relayed through my head like the news scrolling across the bottom of a TV screen.

Ford Mustang.  Extremely rare Boss from the late sixties, probably sixty-nine from the looks of the hood scoop.    Deep blood red, shiny, sleek.  Very expensive.  Very impressive.

To say I was surprised would have been a severe underestimation of the shock that was keeping me staring at the phone.  That King had a car like _this_ sitting in a garage in Glasgow while he rattled around in that ragged Jeep of his, with the front bumper held on by chicken wire and whether or not the doors stayed shut being dependent completely on the speed he was driving...

Now that I thought about it it really didn't seem all that out of the ordinary.  Because this was Thomas McClary, twenty-fourth king of Claighe, CEO of Monarch Industries and sheep farmer straight through to his bones.  Nothing about him made a whole lot of sense.  The color surprised me though - King didn't seem the type to go for a flashy color, but there it sat, red as red could be.  And then I remembered his fascination with my red boots.  The useless boots he had berated me for but still couldn't pull his eyes from.  The boots he _still_ stared at every time I had them on.

I handed the phone back to him.

"That's your stallion huh?"  When he took off toward the low stone wall and started to climb over it without answering, I did what I always do and hit him with another question on the blind assumption that sooner or later he might actually choose one to answer.  "Why do you have an American muscle car in your garage?"

There was a little shrug, one that told me it was likely a terribly interesting story but that he had no interest in telling it.  He tucked the phone back into his pocket and simply said, "Won it in a poker game."

I knew that nothing should surprise me anymore where King was concerned, but somehow the idea of him playing high stakes cards with people willing to put up a half million dollar car was enough to make me fidget in my suddenly warm britches as he helped me over the wall.  "I'll bet your bluff face is amazing."

He winked at me, then pointed across the little clearing below us that ran to the edge of the bluff before it dropped off into nothing.  The view was incredible, all wide sky and mountains on the far side, with puffy, heavy-looking clouds peeking up from below the cliff's edge.  I was about to remark about how beautiful it was when he started walking down the hill without me.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?  Is it the view?  Because the view is amazing, oh my god this is so - you know, this would be a perfect spot for you to propose to me, since the wedding is next week and all."

"Over there."  He cut me off, pointing to a lone tree standing just a few feet from the bluff.

"What, the tree?"

"Aye."  He waited long enough for me to edge clumsily down the little slope that he had taken easily in two long strides, holding his hand out for me to grab onto.  "This is what Clifton wants so bad."

"What, you mean your uncle?  That crazy guy from dinner?"  I remembered the old man demanding King give back something he'd taken, but more clearly than that, I remembered the deadly resolve in King's eyes as he'd stared him down without responding.  Whatever it was, it was beyond obvious that King had no intention of ever returning it.  But he was dragging me along behind him like he was in a hurry to get to that tree, so I held onto his hand and tried to keep to my feet as best I could.  "Does he want this piece of land?  Because I can see why he'd want it, it's - "

King let go of me as soon as we reached the tree, dropping to his knees in the mud and pushing his sleeve up before shoving his arm into a scarred-over opening at the base of the trunk.  It looked like a woodpecker had made a home there a hundred years ago, but had moved on some time in the last century, leaving behind this smooth-edged hole that King was now digging around in.

He was in up to his shoulder when he suddenly sat back and pulled something out.  It was a box, about six inches wide, with a gold sliding hook latch holding the gilded lid shut.  He blew gently across the top to clean the dirt and dried leaves from it, then scooted back so that his back was against the tree and laid the little box on his knee.

I wasn't sure if I should ask, but the look on his face was different now and it was something I'd never seen before.

"King...?"

He looked up at me for just a second, then looked at the box again.

"Molly," he said quietly, his voice shaking a little.  "This is the last Banrigh before you."

 

 

It took me a few seconds to realize what he meant, and a few more beyond that for the blanks to fill themselves in in my head.  And when they did, I had no idea what to say to him.

I knew what was in the box.

It was his mother's ashes.

I sat down beside him in the dirt, leaning back against the tree that was Christa McClary's home.  It seemed right and fitting that the woman who'd birthed the man before me should be spending eternity in the wild open spaces near her equally wild son.  And I knew that if I climbed the tree we were leaning against, I'd be able to see over the stone wall and down the gentle slope straight to the little valley where King's cabin was nestled.

He'd put her where they could see each other.

 

After a long silence, I reached over and put my hand on top of his.

"Did she like it up here?  Was this her favorite place?"

King shook his head, turning his gaze out into the wide open sky beyond the bluff.

"Better than her family's tomb, where they wanted her ta' end up."

I didn't know if I should talk any more or not, but my curiosity was going to end me if I didn't find out the why's and what-fors.  There had to be a protocol for the royal family, even in a wild place like this.  "Shouldn't she be with your father?  Where is he?"

He gestured north again, a dismissive wave of his hand.  "He's with the kings."

"Isn't there a place for the queens?"

A sad little nod lowered his head for a long while before he answered, and when he did there was a haunted whisper to his voice.  "Aye...but she ne'er wanted to be Banrigh."  His eyes came to mine and for just a brief moment there was a look of panic in them.  "You, Mol?  You can live with it?"

I had no idea what he meant, since my knowledge of what it meant to be the Banrigh went about as far as my skills with geese.  So I just nodded, hoping it was the answer he wanted.  He nodded back and his face softened with what I guessed would be relief.  Or maybe it was just an acknowledgement so that I wouldn't say anything else.

After another long silence that held nothing but the low rustling rush of the wind through the grass, I gave his fingers a squeeze.  "So...how did you end up with it?"

His head was back against the tree and his eyes had closed at some point after our last words, and he didn't open them - but a slow grin broke across his lips and I felt some of the tension leave him, like a troubled spirit abandoning its host to head back to its own realm.

"I stole it."  He snuffled a little bit, a quiet laugh under his breath.  "While half of Scotland were offerin' condolences to me Da, I walked up ta' the alter and took it.  Walked out.  Nobody saw me.  Nobody ever saw me."

I almost laughed, but something about that last sentence broke my heart.  _Nobody ever saw me._   And while I knew it was likely what he wanted, to be unseen and unacknowledged, it still made me sad.  I knew he'd been just eight years old when his mother died.  The idea of a little boy knowing what he had to do and doing it with such strength of will was heart wrenching enough on its own...knowing that he'd accomplished it without being caught because he was all but invisible to the rest of his family was just too much.

He was such a remarkable human being, living such a quiet and uninvolved life.  He minded his own business and did what needed doing, and at the end of the day he slept the peaceful and untroubled sleep of a man without the burden of wrong sitting heavy on his chest.  There was an innocence to him that I envied, and a strength of character that made me outright jealous.  He'd never molded himself to anyone's expectations, never shaped himself to please someone else's requirements.  That was the strength.  The innocence was that he didn't even seem to know there was a standard that he was ignoring.

That was why the lines in his face were from the cold wind and his reactions to people, when he had to suffer their presence - not from unhappiness or stress or the constant weight the rest of us bore from struggling to meet up to expectations placed on us by others.  He was mostly untouched by those elements.  He simply lived his life, doing what needed done when it needed doing, worrying about nothing but his sheep.

And me and Pod, now.  It felt wrong, saddling him with the burden of us.  But he seemed uninjured by the weight, and I took consolation in the fact that his smiles came more frequently now.  I knew I irritated the fire out of him sometimes and likely always would, but I also made him happy, and though I wasn't entirely certain that he knew why, it was still a beautiful thing to see the light come up in his eyes when he looked at us.

 

We let our increasingly comfortable silence fall over us again for a while.  When he finally sighed like he was ready to get up, I decided I had one more question that I couldn't leave unasked. 

"What are you feeling right now?"

He shrugged a little and looked at me.  "I dunno."  There was nothing contemplative in his voice, just...a matter of fact sort of truth, and I knew that he wasn't being coy or avoiding an uncomfortable subject.  _He simply didn't know._   Because feelings were a confusing thing for King, a muddy mystery that his otherwise brilliant mind couldn't wrap itself around.  He smiled, he laughed, he frowned and scowled just like anyone else...but ask him to tell you why he was doing any of those things and he had nothing to tell you.

The comprehension just wasn't there.

"I know happy and I know _not_ happy," he continued without me prodding him, tossing a rock over the bluff and then picking up another.  "Those are big.  The little 'uns, the stuff in between those two...I dun'nae know them."

I thought back to the blank, unconcerned look on his face when I had stomped outside to tell him the wedding was off.  He'd shown absolutely no emotion of any kind, though I suspected he knew I was just mad and being unreasonable and that my words meant nothing.  Or maybe he'd felt one of the 'stuff in between' and hadn't known how to express it.

"What did it feel like when I told you we weren't getting married?"

He stared at the stone in his hand, his thumb sliding quickly back and forth across the jagged edge like he was using it to help him think.  He finally threw it over the bluff.

"It did'nae feel like happy."

 

 

 

King went to Glasgow to take care of some business for a few days, so while he was gone I took advantage of the free time to work out the final details of the wedding.  Dave had secured permission for us to use the chapel and took care of getting it ready - to say I was hesitant to hand the job over to him was an understatement, but he assured me he had a team of ladies in mind who would see to the 'girly stuff' and do it up proper under his supervision, which had _oh my god no_ from head to toe all over it.  I tried to say no about a dozen times, but then realized it really didn't matter.  This wasn't going to be a big to-do in any way, and I'd be surprised if more than a half dozen people even attended.

And that was fine with me.

Because this was me and King, and all we were doing was making our decision to stay together for the rest of our lives official.  To him we were already together, so the ceremony was strictly for me as far as he was concerned.  We didn't need a lot of fuss to accomplish our unambitious little goal, and the less noise and mayhem the better...and not just for King.  I felt like I could do with some quiet myself.

 _Turadh._   The still inside the storm.  I was getting used to the silent place that defined us, and it was growing on me.

So I kissed King goodbye and told him to meet me at the chapel on Wednesday, having faith that he would do as he was told. 

And that was exactly what he did.

 

 

Scotland did me a solid that day.  The sun came out, threatening to duck behind the clouds again at any second and hurl a storm at me, but threaten was all it did.  I knew the uneasy truce wouldn't last long but I was okay with it - I had my red boots in the back of the car and I had no problem with trading my dainty little satin slippers for them if mud suddenly became a factor in my wedding.

I was getting used to this place, and it seemed to be getting used to me.  We both knew neither of us was leaving, so we might as well learn to live with each other.

 

I was standing in the back foyer in my dress, looking out into the chapel at the stone benches that were inexplicably full of people.  Not just the half dozen I'd anticipated.

The chapel was _full._

And not just full...people were standing against the walls and crowding out into the lobby that joined off to the side.  There must have been a couple hundred bodies crammed into the little space, leaving nothing empty but the aisle I was going to walk down.

_Was I at the wrong wedding?_

"Glenda!"

I waved frantically till she came over, holding Pod on her hip and smiling at me.  It was the first time I'd ever seen her in something other than blue jeans and a flannel shirt and she looked so pretty I wanted to cry.  She straightened the little ribbon bow at the bodice of my dress and flitted her eyes past my shoulder before I could ask her what was the story on the crowd.

She nodded toward something behind me and I turned around.

King had just walked in through the open stone doorway and was standing there, staring at me.

"Your king's arrived," Glenda said, her voice full of such obvious pride that it almost felt like she was the mother of the groom.  The groom that was crossing the foyer in long strides toward me, dressed in a very nice black suit coat and a kilt in colors that matched Pod's quilt.  The McClary colors.  But his tie was another set of colors, a narrow swath of plaid that I recognized from the family crest tapestries hanging on the wall in that little bakery in Glasgow.

Auchinleck colors.  I knew that was for his mother.  His family was represented, both sides of it.

And so were his friends - I spotted Declan and Murphy and the other three execs that comprised his Scottish mafia outside the door behind him, leaning in to wave briefly.  I waved back and then couldn't stop myself from putting my hands over my mouth, stunned that not only had King actually showed up, he was sober and had put some effort into looking decent.  All I could do was stare at him, clean shaven with his hair mostly in place, his hands washed and his boots - well, they weren't exactly shined, but he wasn't tracking mud and that was something at least.

"Look at you," I said, shaky voiced and trying not to embarrass him as I reached up to straighten his tie.  "All cut and combed.  You even shaved."

He didn't seem nervous, and the tailored coat brought up memories of him in Philadelphia, force feeding Clendon Williams its own ass despite being medicated to the gills.  But looking at him now, there was a clarity in his eyes that told me Declan hadn't brought that little bag of pills with him this time.

King was here, all of him.

"I've ne'er been wed, Mol," he said quietly, taking my hand from his collar and pressing my fingers to his mouth.  "I dunno what happens - I thought maybe I best clean up fer' it."

 

 

From somewhere in the other end of the chapel, music started and I suddenly realized we had no script from here on out.  There had been no rehearsal, no formal arranging of who was to do what.  Dave was at the end of the long aisle with Ella standing next to him in her little blue dress, looking like the ethereal fairy creature I still wasn't entirely convinced that she wasn't.  Glenda was standing across from them, and I saw her shoot Dave the same warning look she always gave him when he walked into her pub.

Everything was perfect.

I looked at King.

"Are you going to walk out with me?"

"Am I meant to?"

"Well, no - that's not how it's traditionally done."

His eyes narrowed at _traditionally_ and I knew then that there was no point, no point at all, in doing things the way they were expected to be done, simply because it was expected.  He didn't live like that and I didn't want to either, not anymore.  I'd spent far too much of my life living up to expectations.

I held my hand out and he took it.

The look on his face was suddenly something I'd never seen on him before, something like awe and admiration and a joy that he seemed surprised to be experiencing.  His eyes swept over my dress, lingering on the ruffles around the top of the bodice before coming up to my face.

"You look too perfect Mol.  You couldn't possibly be mine."  He reached up and slipped his finger into my hair, just above my ear, pulling a strand loose so that it fell down across my shoulder.  "There, now you're real."

The music paused and started again, and I saw Glenda holding her hands up in a frustrated _Are we doing this or not?_ gesture that sent it all home for me.  King and I were getting married.  We'd gone from a storm on the mountain to a sunny day in a chapel in the space of a year, with only one thing keeping us company the entire time...a stubborn determination to be together in spite of ourselves and everything around us.

And here we were, finally.  It was King that took the first step toward the front of the chapel, pulling me along by the hand.

"Who are all these people?" I whispered to him as we fell into step next to each other.

"The village."

"Is there some kind of royal decree that says they all have to come to the king's wedding?"

"Aye."

As I looked around at all the eyes watching us, it didn't feel like these people were here because they had to be.  Everyone had stood up and turned around when we started toward the front, and I could see in their faces that they were proud of their king, that this was a momentous occasion for them, maybe more so than it was for us.  It was a day none of them had ever thought they'd see.  Thomas and Christa's quiet little boy was still quiet but not a little boy anymore, and the sullen, surly, half wild man that he'd grown into was scrubbed and suited and standing before them looking every bit like what he was meant to be.

The King of Claighe.

And after I'd recited my vows in the carefully rehearsed Gaelic that I'd l labored for a week to memorize, King said his back to me in English.  Glenda had told me it was tradition in royal marriages for the entire ceremony to be in the old tongue, and I'd wanted my words to go into King's heart without his head having to translate them first.

He did the same for me, very characteristically kicking tradition to the curb so that I'd understand his words as well.  I honestly didn't think I could love him more than I did in that moment, when he stopped talking and pulled both my hands to his lips to kiss them while his eyes held mine.

"Go ye into the world and prosper," the Chief Constable finally said with the same sort of look on his face that he'd had the night King and Dave had set fire to the yule tree.  I fully expected his next words to be _And for fucks sake please don't start any fights after the ceremony, this is sort of a house of God._   But instead he simply nodded to indicate it was done, and we turned around to walk out.

Done.  Married.  It would have been surreal if King hadn't been squeezing my hand so hard; I assumed he was trying to keep himself calm since we were surrounded by people and suddenly enveloped in what could only be defined as the semi-deafening roar of a couple hundred loyal subjects shouting blessings at us.

But he wasn't shaking and he didn't seem overloaded by the noise and the crowd.  He wasn't scowling.  He just seemed...strangely content.

His eyes were on me, not on the people filling the chapel.

I knew it then.  I wasn't the source of his agitation anymore.  I was his safe place, and he was in there right now, with me, where it was quiet.

 

 

 

And so I was Banrigh, wife of the King, mother of the Prince, stepmom to an assortment of Princesses...but of all the fancy titles, Mrs McClary was the one that excited me the most.  Finally, something in life that suited me.

_Molly McClary._

It sounded like a plump, cheerful, rosy cheeked Scottish farmer's wife, which I realized with a warm bit of glee was pretty much what I was.  While King was strapping Pod into his car seat and making sure Ella was buckled in properly, I got settled in the front and turned around till he looked up and winked at me.

"What are you feeling right now?" I asked him, expecting him to shrug, to say he didn't know.  There were a million little feelings in between happy and not happy and I knew I couldn't expect him to identify any of them, but I wanted to see if he could try, if for no other reason than to satisfy my curiosity.  He handed Ella the little gilded box that held his mother's ashes and told her to keep it safe in her hands till we got home, then came around and got into the driver's side and started the car.

It was about to rain, but I didn't care.  My dress was a one-time thing and my boots were in the back, a little mud wasn't going to matter.  Mud had brought us together.  I'd been sent to Scotland to dig in the dirt and had been standing in a puddle of it up to my knees the first time I'd laid eyes on the cranky wraith whose ring was now sitting on my finger and whose last name would foreverafter be on the back of my library card.  Mud had been the one constant in our relationship.

King sat staring at nothing for a moment, then looked over at me.  There was a warm smile on his face that crinkled the corners of his eyes and I knew he was going to answer my question without me having to ask it again.  His big hand reached across to grip my knee through the satin of my dress and I noticed that he'd moved his ring from his right hand to his left.

"It does'nae feel like not happy."

 

 

**_~ The End ~_ **

 

__

 

 

_**Molly and King will return** _

_**Part 4 of The McClary Chronicles coming Summer 2018** _

 

 

 

 


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